


Tales of the Elves of Imladris

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe (DH AU) D version [18]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Comfort, Family, Friendship, Humor, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 93,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories about the elves of Imladris, set mostly during the Third Age.</p><p>Latest Chapters 29-31: Melpomaen still has some important things to learn about being Erestor's son. But that's fair enough, as Erestor still has a lot to learn about being a father. A visit from Erestor's parents does not necessarily help matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Six Children of Elrond Peredhel

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Summary: A few words about each of the beloved children of Elrond Earendilion and Celebrian Celeborniel
> 
> A/N: Many thanks to Emma and Kaylee for helping me develop the structure of Lord Elrond's family for purposes of the DH AU, since I needed he and Celebrian to have more children for plot purposes .

The six children of Elrond Earendilion and Celebrian Celeborniel were Elrohir, Elladan, Andreth, Belemir, Arwen, and Aragorn. Three would reunite in Valinor, three in the Halls of Mandos. Celebrian had never met Aragorn, but Elrond was sure she would have approved.

Elrond married Celebrian when he was finally able to conquer his fear of risking loss. Celebrian understood the delay, and forgave Elrond for it, in time. Though not all of her adopted brothers did.

They had children a mere century or so after their wedding, because Celebrian didn't want to wait any longer. She loved elflings, and wanted a large family.

The twins were born first, and almost last. Well, Elrond ran out of courage, after the twins. And he was terrified of a daughter who might take after Galadriel. Terrified in a very warrior-like, brave way, but terrified.

But Celebrian wanted more children. And the twins had grown into brave, mostly responsible, young soldiers, who were as often Glorfindel's lookout as Elrond's. And Melpomaen, the adopted son of Elrond's gwador Erestor, was a calming influence on the twins.

So Andreth was born. If Galadriel was starlight, Andreth was sunlight. Sweet and open and warm, beautiful and kind. Elrond was enchanted. The twins were, as well. Celebrian was delighted to have a daughter, though she made sure to have time for her sons, for Elladan's experiments and Elrohir's strategy games.

Then, before Andreth came of age, when she was a charming if willful teenaged elfling, Belemir was born. Elrond was confident; he had handled two sons at once, surely he could manage this one? And at first, Belemir proved less mischievous than the twins had been. But Belemir was still a very young elfling when Arwen, their surprise, came along.

Amongst their family and closest friends, the children of Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian were thought of like this: there were the twins, then calm Andreth in the middle, then the "little twins," Belemir and Arwen, who were less than a decade apart in age.

By the time Lord Elrond took Aragorn, son of Arathorn, as his foster-son, and re-named the boy Estel, only three of his children remained in Middle Earth. Belemir had made Luthien's choice, and wed a distant niece of Elrond's, a daughter of Firiel's and Arvedui's. Then gentle, scholarly Belemir had died young, defending the last brave remnants of Arthedain, of Arnor, from the Witch-King of Angmar and his armies. Then Celebrian and Andreth had been captured by orcs, and the twins and Melpomaen had been in time to rescue Celebrian, but not Andreth. Elrond could at least comfort himself that he would see Andreth again someday in the West, for she had wed an elf, who chose to keep Celebrian company on her voyage.

It did not entirely surprise Lord Elrond, when Arwen fell in love with his last "child," his human foster-son Estel. Arwen, like Belemir, had always had something of Elros about her. A certain lack of hesitation, when opportunity came along. For Arwen, the opportunity was a short lifetime spent with the man she loved, one of the best men Elrond had ever known. And elves, as a rule, loved but once. Elrond would miss his youngest daughter forever, once he had sailed. But he would not begrudge her Aragorn's love, nor Estel Arwen's.

What choice the twins would make, human or elf, Lord Elrond could not predict. He had never been able to predict the twins, though he loved them dearly, and hoped to see them again someday, in the West.


	2. Two Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond's chief advisor Erestor must hunt and find a reluctant dinner guest. The honor of Imladris is at stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set early in the third age. King Valandil of Arnor dies earlier than in canon, assassinated in an ambush by enemies unknown on his way back from a visit to Imladris. His son Eldacar inherits early.

The stable was the logical place for someone who knew him well to look for him at this moment, but Glorfindel thought concealing himself in a pile of hay would be sufficient camouflage, for when Elrond's expected ally came hunting. Unfortunately, Glorfindel mused, Erestor could seem to take no notice of any of the martial skills Glorfindel so patiently taught him, and then, at the most inconvenient times, prove himself an excellent tracker.

"Hiding in a stable is unworthy of you, oh my Lord Captain." Erestor gently teased his grandfather and friend, as he used a broom to reveal the Balrog Slayer's clever hiding place.

Glorfindel would have blushed, but he saw no shame in avoiding a situation where he was certain he would disgrace himself, and his Lord Elrond, and his clever, patient, diplomatic grandson, for that matter.

"Erestor, there is nothing in Arda that could force me to sit at that table tonight and smile at Elrond's brat of a great nephew." Glorfindel said firmly, the light of the west in his eyes and the strength of will that had defeated a balrog in his voice."Now let me go."

Erestor ignored that. He was not actually holding Glorfindel still, just gently brushing hay off of the silvery white on blue uniform Glorfindel wore as Elrond's Captain, with the proud green and gold badge of Glorfindel's own house carefully embroidered by Celebrian on the tunic. "Two words, Anatar." Elrond's chief Advisor replied softly.

Glorfindel raised an impatient eyebrow. If he left in the next few moments, he could still be gone before Elrond sent someone even more determined, say, Celebrian, to search for him.

Then Erestor smiled, a rare, wide, daring grin. He looked like his father, and Glorfindel's heart and resolve almost melted. But then Glorfindel remembered the near disaster at last night's dinner, and he shook his head regretfully, "Erestor, inyonya, I will end up either enbathing the King of Arnor in the fish course, or thrashing him in the Great Hall. No, it is for the best that I leave."

Erestor merely raised an eyebrow, and an impartial observer might have noticed an uncanny resemblance between the golden-haired balrog slayer and his quiet but indomitable raven-tressed grandson, as Erestor softly spoke two words. "Laughing Laure."

Glorfindel's jaw dropped at hearing the long-ago nickname. It wasn't the name itself, that he could have lived down with a grin, and a laugh. No, it was the stories that went along with the name...

Glorfindel was a great strategist, and he recognized a losing hand when he held one. So he dusted the last of the hay out of his hair, and, in a dignified manner, reminded Erestor that they shouldn't be late.

So Elrond's most trusted senior retainers repaired to the Great Hall of Annuminas. King Eldacar baited the Balrog Slayer again, but Glorfindel merely smiled frostily in reply, keeping his well-known temper firmly in check. Elrond silently complimented him on his self-control, as Glorfindel wondered which of his few surviving acquaintances from the old days in Tirion might have ratted him out to his grandson here on Middle Earth. And what possible vengeance he could take upon that unfortunate elf.

Erestor was not particularly good at keeping secrets from his grandfather; in fact, he was notoriously bad at it. But that one he kept, until yeni after the last ship had of elves had returned to their western home. It would be Erestor's own grandchildren, somehow Glorfindel's natural allies, who would charm their own Anatar into sharing the tale, but that is another story.

This story ends here, as Lord Elrond and his party would leave early the next morning. It was the last trip to Annuminas...or anywhere, that Elrond, Celebrian, Glorfindel and Erestor would make, the four of them together, for the better part of a century. Upon their return it was agreed that Elrohir and Elladan could simply not be left alone in Imladris without an authority figure who knew them well to keep an eye on their impressively creative endeavors. But that is another story.


	3. I'm Not Getting Involved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenaged elfling Melpomaen loves his best friends Elrohir and Elladan, but sometimes, he just doesn't want to get involved in whatever trouble they've thought up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in about year 168 of the Third Age, in Imladris. Some aspects of Melpomaen's characterization are borrowed from Holly's stories (with her kind permission) for use in the DH AU, with my sinere thanks, although I have him as only a few years older than the twins, and they are all still teenaged elflings in this one-shot.

"I am not getting involved." Melpomaen said to himself very firmly, as he focused on the text in front of him. It helped that he found what he was reading- the history of Eregion- fascinating, but then Mel found just about everything fascinating. Except weapons training, and chemistry, so he was DEFINITELY not getting involved. Whatever it was they were plotting.

But the whispering behind him just got louder. Melpomaen wondered which twin would approach him this time...he was still a little annoyed at Elladan for the exploding ink pot last week, and at Elrohir for over-enthusiastically knocking him into a snow drift this morning with a quarter staff. Mel's footwork hadn't been that bad, and now he had bruises on both of his ankles.

The whispering stopped. Mel studiously kept turning pages at 23 second intervals, even though he was no longer reading. He was not getting involved.

Instead of a cajoling twin, what appeared in front of Mel next was an annoyed Balrog slayer. "Have you seen the twins?"

Mel carefully kept the expression on his face pleasant, even as he thought to himself, 'Contrary to popular belief, I am not their keeper.' But all he said was, "No, my Lord. Have you lost them?"

Glorfindel looked at Mel suspiciously. Erestor's adopted son did not, as a general rule, get into trouble, or help the twins with trouble, but Mel was always about, and the twins had gained a new level of ...subtlety, which had not previously characterized their hi-jinks. It was a new and unwelcome development which, come to think of it, dated from approximately the time that Melpomaen had joined Elrond's household several years ago. That, and Mel had been involved in what Glorfindel privately called the disaster of Bree, though King Eldacar had called it a defining moment in elven-human accomplishment. Then he'd knighted everyone involved, including the twins.

Glorfindel gave Melpomaen the glare that usually reduced his thousand year old lieutenants to quivering elflings, eager to confess to anything. But Mel did not look guilty, if anything, he seemed politely confused. And Mel was not GENERALLY a particularly good liar. In fact, he was a notoriously bad one. Except when he wasn't. Glorfindel gave up glaring, and sighed instead.

Mel began to look at the Captain of Imaldris' Guard in concern. "Lord Glorfindel, are you alright?" He asked gently. "Did you drink or eat something the twins gave you, or anything that you left out of your sight for a moment or more? If so, perhaps we should go see the healers..."

Glorfindel shook his head. He was just being fanciful. The rapidly melting life sized ice sculpture of Asfaloth in his quarters could very easily have been the work of any of three young soldier-trainees, just as likely as the twins. More, the whole incident was beginning to seem a bit, well, humorous, to Glorfindel. Almost funny enough to be worthy of singing about. And Melpomaen certainly didn't seem to know anything. Just because the polite young ellon had been drawn into a couple of the twins' schemes, was no reason to doubt his honesty. After all, GLORFINDEL had been drawn into the disaster of Bree. He could hardly blame Melpomaen for that. So Glorfindel patted the young elf's shoulder, and said pleasantly, "No, Melpomaen, but thank you. If you see Elladan or Elrohir, ask them to come find me, please." Then Glorfindel took his leave, humming as he walked off, and even thinking about dancing.

"I will." Mel agreed with a slight, uncertain smile, making a mental note to look up a book on the dangers of experimenting on unsuspecting elven subjects with tasteless mildly hallucinogenic substances, which he would then leave on Elladan's favorite reading chair. The younger twin's experiments were really getting ridiculous. Mel then turned back to his book, becoming engaged in writing a list of all of the factors that Sauron had exploited in establishing a new identity to deceive the elves of Eregion. Maybe Elrohir would be willing to read this book, if Mel could frame it as a lesson in how their enemy had infiltrated an elven city? It might be worth a try...it would be nice to have someone his own age to discuss this research with. Someone for whom the fall of Eregion had not been a personal tragedy. Mel knew Erestor would gladly tell him just about anything, but he hated to ask questions that he knew brought up painful memories for most of the elves in Imladris.

The afternoon passed pleasantly for the studious adolescent ellon, until the sound of loud singing interrupted his concentration, about an hour before dinner.

After a few minutes of the singing, followed by crashing and more singing, the twins entered the library, grinning from ear to ear.

'I'm not even asking.' Mel reminded himself. 'I'm not getting involved.'

"Thanks Mel!" Elladan whispered cheerfully. "You were perfect."

"What?" Melpomaen replied, shocked.

"We were going to ask you if you wanted to help, but you were even better not knowing what was going on!" Elrohir explained, sotto voice. "You convinced Glorfindel that WE weren't involved, and now, well, do you really want to know?"

Mel stifled a groan. Well-brought up elves did not groan. Not at daily occurences such as this. "I give up." He told the twins, who both somehow managed to smile wider. "Even when I'm not involved, I'm involved. What did "we" do?"

Elladan patted his arm consolingly. "You remember those three young soldier-trainees who made fun of you last week?"

Mel felt a shiver of dread. "Yes, but I told you, it was nothing. They're right; I'm not much of a warrior."

The twins frowned at him.

"You just lack confidence." Elrohir disagreed. "Anyway, those three trainees stayed up very late last night drinking, so they slept in this morning. They blackmailed 'Dan and I into doing their morning chores."

"What did you do that they could blackmail you for it?" Mel asked. With the twins, it was important to note the details.

"Long story, not really relevant. All's fair in pranks during wintertime, we're not holding a grudge." Elrohir declaimed. "But we don't think they should pick on you scholar-types. So, we asked that sculptor fellow who you and 'Dan helped with the composition of his clay for an appropriate wave-shape for the sculpture of Earendil in the salt-water fountain,"

"If he could sculpt a horse out of ice, and he said of course he could, he'd be happy to help you get back at those particular guards," Elladan explained. "We tried it out last week, and it worked great, although we were all a bit giggly for the rest of that afternoon."

Remembering that afternoon, Melpomaen winced. "So you mixed that hallucinogenic stuff you've been working on into an ice scuplture of a horse and left it somewhere to melt? 'Dan, I'm really not sure if that's a good idea. Are you SURE that stuff doesn't have any after effects?"

"Mild euphoria, a slight floaty feeling, and a bit of a headache the next morning." Elrohir denied. "Nothing major, not in 20 different control subjects, including us. And 'Dan reduced the dosage this time, just in case."

Mel sighed. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I can deal with my own problems. And we're ALL going to have to deal with Glorfindel. There's no way he's not going to figure out you two were involved, and me too, since you framed those particular guards."

The twins looked at him seriously. "Mel," Elladan began, "As soon as you start standing up for yourself,"

"Verbally, physically, however," Elrohir elaborated,

"we'll stop playing pranks on elves who pick on you," Elladan continued,

"so really, its up to you." Elrohir finished.

Mel sighed again. When the twins, Erestor, and Glorfindel all told him the same thing in different ways, it might be time to reevaluate his coping mechanisms. "I'll think about it. You two think about how to apologize for the ice-horse of song and giggles."

The twins laughed. "No need, Mel." Elladan assured him. "The ice-horse will cause a certain smell as it melts, the same smell as that of the distinctive fruity alcohol those three guards were drinking last night."

Elrohir grinned. "And since Elladan and I have no MOTIVE to get back against the three guards who kindly invited us to join them in their carousing, and Glorfindel is now convinced that you, who DID have a motive, were not involved,"

"We're all off the hook." Elladan finished with the angelic smile that had sent shivers up Mel's spine ever since Bree.

"I see." Melpomaen concluded weakly, not looking forward to dinner that evening. He really was not a good liar.

"Don't worry, we're picnicking in our quarters tonight." Elrohir assured him.

"Or we will be, once Ada convinces Glorfy to stop singing." Elladan expanded, before asking, "Hey, what are you reading?"

"Eregion?" Elrohir asked, looking at the title. "Does it have anybody we know in it?"

"Umm, yes. Our sculptor friend, among others. And of course your father, Erestor, Glorfindel, and your grandfather, as beleaguered heroes, starting near the middle, and your mother and grandmother, coming to find your grandfather, at the end."

A flustered Chief Adviser entered the library half an hour later, to find his adopted son and his other pupils with their dark heads bent studiously around a book, comparing notes.

"I don't get it. If Annatar was telling one thing to the sculptors who made the casts, and another to the miners who found the gold and jewels, why didn't they just compare notes and realize he was a lying bast...oh, hi, Erestor." Elrohir finished lamely.

"History can be very exciting, Elrohir, but remember your manners." Erestor scolded mildly. He had more important things to worry about tonight then the twins' tendency to curse when they were interested in something. At least they were learning. "Would you three mind taking dinner informally in your rooms tonight?" Erestor asked, with a special smile for Mel, who seemed a bit shell-shocked. A whole afternoon with Elladan and Elrohir in "tired-of-being-cooped-up-inside-because-its-winter" mode could do that to anyone.

Elladan frowned. "I suppose not, why, what's going on?"

"Three of Glorfindel's trainees apparently got extremely soused last night and, well, its a long story. Chalk it up to the dangers of excessive drinking, I suppose." Erestor explained wearily. "I need to get back to helping Elrond with Glorfindel. You three stay out of trouble."

"Why do people always say that to us?" Elrohir asked, with only an appropriate level of disgust. Mel smiled weakly. Elladan turned back to his notes. Erestor gave them another hassled smile and a wave farewell.

A few hours later, Melpomaen sat in the window seat of the twins' room, looking out at the falling snow. Elladan and Elrohir sat on their floor, playing chess. Not to win; to predict the other twin's move with perfect accuracy. Mel had the list of their guesses.

A knock drew their attention to the door, and the twins' mother Celebrian entered, and closed the door behind her. "Elladan. This set of experiments moves to the chemistry labs and to knowing volunteer test subjects, or it stops immediately. Elrohir, if I find out you've somehow bribed your twin to make you alcohol again, I'll make you drink all of his first batch by yourself. Melpomaen, if those idiots harass you again, either tell someone who will do something about it, or get involved in whatever my sons are planning early enough to keep the innocent - such as myself, Elrond, and Erestor- out of it."

The three elven teenagers' mouths dropped open in shock.

Celebrian smiled at them, for a moment resembling her sons, before continuing, "Right now I'm amused. The three of you are lucky that I happen to agree Glorfindel should have done something about those particular idiots before they had a chance to insult two of my most timid ladies into completely losing their confidence on the archery field. But if this happens again, I will NOT be amused."

"Yes, Nana." Elladan murmured, admiration in his eyes.

"Yes, Bri." Melpomaen agreed, glad that one of the most sensible of Imladris' adults had noticed what was going on.

"Nana, we're not even sure that Glorfy noticed those three idiots." Elrohir defended the Captain.

Apparently, it was Elrohir's turn to be the twin who couldn't leave well enough alone, Mel noted absently.

"He's the arms-master, 'Roh." Celebrian disagreed quietly. "Its his job to notice, and to teach not only those who are born to the sword, like you and your brother, but everyone. Fighting their way out of Eregion, into this valley, building this refuge, and holding off a superior force for two years until help came, Glorfindel, your father, Erestor, and my father needed every sculptor, every chemist, every timid scholar who would rather read than fight. They needed their swords, and their hearts. No one had the option of not getting involved. If Glorfindel has forgotten that, and this is what it takes to remind him, fine. This once. But not again, alright?"

Elrohir nodded, contemplatively. "Mel wasn't involved, you know."

Celebrian grinned again. "Mel's never involved. Except when he is. Who got the two of you to start thinking about how to conceal your true objectives, anyway?"

The twins looked at Mel. Mel looked at Celebrian. "It was an accident, I was just trying to get them interested in their homework, so they'd let me do my work. And so that I'd have someone to talk to." Mel added honestly.

Celebrian nodded. "A lot of important things come about by accident. Imladris, among others."


	4. Good Morning, Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snippet about Elladan and his younger sister, one bright morning.

Elladan winced as consciousness, and awareness of his sore backside, returned.

"Oh, good, you're awake!" His young sister Andreth chirped happily, from approximately six inches away from Elladan's face, "I've been waiting ever so long. Now we can outside and feed the fish!"

Elladan nobly suppressed a sigh. The last thing he wanted to do right now was take Andreth on a walk as he usually did on the days he was not on-duty. But their parents were off visiting their distant cousin the King of Arnor, and Elladan had a responsibility to be a good big brother. And, it was flattering to be one of the little elleth's favorite people. Elladan managed to offer her a tentative smile and a loving, "Good morning, Sunshine." Then he frowned. "Where is 'Roh?" Elladan's brother was a morning elf, but surely he must be as sore as Elladan...

"'Roh said he would keep Mel company at arms practice this morning, since it was his fault and yours that Mel has to attend extra sessions for the next year." Andreth explained, carefully handing Elladan a cup of tea and a pastry with spiced meat and vegetables cooked inside of it.

Elladan rolled his eyes at the over-protectiveness of a certain balrog slayer as he ate his roll, drank his tea, and began to feel slightly more like this wouldn't be a terrible day. Poor Mel, Elladan mused, the next time Erestor would probably just take his adopted son with him to Annuminas. Hmm, perhaps Erestor would take all of them....if Glor could spare them. Erestor had taken all three of them to Mithlond, once.

Elladan finished his breakfast, and got up to dress. Noting that his brother had taken his gray cloak, Elladan shrugged and selected a green one. The days were getting cool enough that the twins preferred to be somewhat more warmly dressed than other elves, and Elrohir's blue cloak had been an unfortunate victim of their recent bear hunt, and his red cloak had been sacrificed to make little red cloaks for Andreth's dolls.

Elladan snorted as he found a note from his Captain inside his boot. "Feeding the fish is fine, but no more rabid bears," Glorfindel had written, his handwriting nearly as indecipherable as Elrohir's. Honestly, where did the temporary regent of Imladris think that Elladan could find another rabid bear? It had taken effort to find just the one, and they'd had plenty of data from its attacks on the villages around Bree from which to determine its whereabouts. They should, in retrospect, have taken more guards with them. Just in case Elladan had been right about where the bear was, which he had been. It was a bit of a curse to be right so often, when no one appreciated your cleverness. Well, no one except your twin, sometimes your gwador, and your little sunshine.

"Are you ready, tithen muinthel?" Elladan asked.

"Yay! Let's go feed the fish!" Andreth cheered, pirouetting down the hallway. Elladan chuckled. The rule was not to run, and Andreth wasn't running, she was dancing. He let it go.

Smiling and exchanging polite greetings with a few other elves, Andreth and Elladan left their father's house, and meandered to one of the calmer pools on the grounds of Imladris. Elladan's sister laughed as the brightly colored fish came to nibble her toes, waiting excitedly for the roll she had saved for them. "Silly fish." Andreth chided, "my feet are not food."

Elladan smiled. The sun shone over head, and his sunshine made the world seem fresh and new.


	5. Your Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel and Erestor are both sure; this elfling is DEFINITELY their Lord's son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kaylee for all of her help developing the characterization of the older generation of elves at Imladris, for purposes of the DH AU, and for coming up with Glor's nickname for Elrond, and for help with Quenya and Sindarin. Thanks to Holly and Figwit also for help with characterization of the Imladris elves. And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee for helping me develop the structure of Lord Elrond's family for purposes of the DH AU.
> 
> This story is set in approximately T.A. 280.

Elrond frowned. He knew Imladris didn't have eighteen alchemists on staff, that couldn't possibly be right. He made a note to ask Elladan to at least be clever about padding his budget reports in the future, and moved on, until he was interrupted by a familiarly thunderous knock at his office door.

"Do come in, vorondanya." Elrond invited, wondering what on earth the twins had done to frustrate their commander now. Elrohir had been doing well, working with trainees, the last that Elrond had heard. And Elladan had obviously been busy slathering over prospective science purchases and committing attempted embezzlement, rather than thinking up new ways to drive Glorfindel crazy.

Elrond was unsurprised to see his second longest-serving retainer furiously angry, the knock had told him that much. Which of Elrond's sons Glorfindel was tugging along in his fuming wake WAS a surprise to Elrond. He blinked. "Belemir?" He questioned. Elrond could count on one...well, maybe two, hands, the number of times his shy, scholarly son had been in trouble with the reborn balrog slayer. Glorfindel often said that Belemir was so sensible that he seemed more like Melpomaen's younger brother, rather than the twins'.

"Oh, this one is your son, no doubt about it." Glorfindel growled, depositing Elrond's blond teenaged son into a chair. Belemir looked ...confused.

"My son?" Elrond queried, face carefully neutral. *I need to keep some dignity in front of my children in order to parent effectively,* he silently reminded the balrog slayer, *have a care with your next words, Glor, please.*

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at his good friend Turgon's great-grandson. *Your dignity, my elfling Lord,* He gently mocked, *does not keep me up nights, worrying. What your children might do, were I to share with them all the wonderful ideas you had as a young idiot, does.* Aloud, Glorfindel merely said, "I am going to the practice yards. Belemir, explain to your Adar why I feel quite strongly that you should be grounded until you reach your majority. If you leave anything out," Glorfindel smiled, the expression of a hunting lion, "I'll add it to the considerable tally of the consequences you have already earned from me."

Belemir unhappily nodded, and Elrond turned his attention to his youngest son as Imladris' Captain strode out the door, hopefully to vent his anger on enemies of straw. "Well?" Elrond gently queried, "What did you do, ion-nin?"

Belemir sighed, unhappily but bravely meeting his father's eyes. "You know those outlaws that are camped west of Bree?"

Elrond nodded cautiously, feeling the beginnings of a headache at his temples.

"Well, the winter is coming, and we gave healing supplies to all of the other human settlements, so I thought...maybe if we got to know the outlaws better, they would stop raiding the other human towns." Belemir explained, hesitantly, but clearly not quite seeing why every adult elf seemed to think this had been a poorly conceived plan.

Elrond raised a hand for quiet, and listened carefully for a moment.

"Umm...Ada, what are you doing?" Belemir asked, a little concerned by his father's odd behavior.

"Listening, to see if I can hear your cousin Ereinion laughing at me from the undying lands." Elrond explained, with an incredulous, pained, smile. "I can't, but perhaps that is merely because he has not yet been reborn."

"Glor said he thought he could hear Lord Cirdan laughing from Mithlond." Belemir responded, still confused but now hiding a tentative smile.

"No doubt." Elrond replied dryly. "And you thankfully failed to include your younger sister in this ill-thought out diplomatic effort because..." Elrond paused and studied his son's face, before sighing. He definitely had a headache, now. "Arwen was there, but Glorfindel did not see her because you distracted him."

Belemir looked down at his feet, and mumbled an affirmative.

Elrond got up, gently gesturing for his son to precede him as they went down the hall. Belemir kept casting uncertain glances at his father. He had expected his Ada to be nearly as upset as Glorfindel, but Elrond was strangely calm. The twins said that this was the calm before the storm, and the twins would know...

"Ada?" Belemir questioned, "The outlaws, umm, they agreed to stop raiding. That was when Glor found us...me, when I was with them returning livestock to one of the towns. Doesn't that, I mean, isn't that good?"

Elrond shook his head in amazement. "It is...good, but it will not help you now, laes-nin." He explained gently, before calling out, "Elrohir."

His oldest son and heir, covered in sweat and grime from the practice yards, quickly explained, "Ada, Glorfindel is in one of those moods. Can you talk to him?"

Elrond chuckled humorlessly. "No. He'll feel better once he has seen to it that there is no longer an intact practice dummy to be found in all of Imladris, but probably not much before that. Have you seen your baby sister?"

Elrohir, confused, nodded. "Yes, she came back from a ride about an hour ago, a little pale but otherwise fine. She didn't have a guard with her and she'd been off the grounds, so I sent her to her room, so you or Nana can talk to her."

Elrond shook his head, "Not until I calm down. And your Nana and Andreth and the other ellith are not expected back from Lothlorien until tomorrow, at the earliest. Please do me a favor, and take the "little twins" to Belemir's room, and have them start writing essays on how easily diplomatic overtures to hostile parties with a history of killing messengers can go horribly wrong."

Elrohir's expressive gray eyes widened in horrified shock. "What did you and Arwen do, muindor laes?" He asked Belemir incredulously.

"Don't you want to wait to read the essays?" Belemir sallied, as he reluctantly followed his brother in the direction of his chamber.

Elrond went to the stables, where Lieutenant Drystan and two other guards had anticipated his arrival. Lifting himself effortlessly onto his waiting horse, Elrond smiled tightly in thanks. Less than a moment later, Erestor, obviously hastily dressed in riding leathers, joined him.

"Your Anatar told you?" Elrond asked, as one of the guards offered Erestor his mount with a bow, and turned to go back to the stables. Erestor was at least as good as any of Elrond's warriors, over a thousand years of Glorfindel's training had seen to that.

"Nay, or at least not in words. Arwen confessed to Mel, who told me that you could probably use some company." Erestor grinned at his best friend sympathetically. "Gwador, I love Elrohir and Elladan dearly, but I'm not sure any elf on Arda would deserve the regular heart failure they cause us all."

Elrond shook his head in answer, thinking, fleetingly, that Elros would have found the twins a joy, and not so much of a challenge as Elrond still did. But his youngest children, Belemir and Arwen, who were almost like a second set of twins themselves, being less than a decade apart....they didn't find trouble as often as their oldest siblings had, but when they did...it was monumentally terrifying.

Erestor, following Elrond's own thoughts, added, "But the little twins....Elrond, you DESERVE every single bit of the worry they cause you! They are both SO much like you were, before having a family settled you down."

"Oh, thank you, tithen-gwador." Elrond replied dryly, "Its so nice to have someone who is always on my side."

Erestor laughed cheerfully, and challenged Elrond to a race to the treeline. When the windblown Lord of Imladris and his sworn brother returned several hours later, Elrond felt calmer, and ready to deal with children who were, after all, very much like himself.


	6. Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen and Glorfindel share a rare moment of perfect understanding, as a storm rages inside Imladris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Holly and Figwit for corresponding with me about the characterisation of Mel and Erestor, and to Kaylee, for help with characterization of Erestor and his family in the DH AU, and the idea that it would be neat if Glorfindel were to be Erestor's grandfather (which in this AU, he is).
> 
> This is set around T.A. 270, or thereabouts. The twins are still relatively young, and trying their hand at one thing and another. Melpomaen has gotten to the point where he is comfortable using informal address with his adoptive father, but not with all the members of his adoptive father's formidable family. I imagine Celebrian and the younger children of Elrond are visiting their grandparents in Lothlorien this winter, or just keeping wisely out of sight.

"Why?" Lord Elrond practically yelled, "What was it about the solvent that I have been using for....for millenia, that said to you, 'let's try adding an aphrodisiac to make this dissolve more thoroughly!'"

"Why don't you ever listen to me!" Elladan yelled back, "You're more stuck in your ways than Erestor, if he had just LISTENED to Elrohir, those books would never have been destroyed!"

Erestor didn't yell, but he was nearly at the end of his patience. "That laminate is not effective for transferring images which are so old and fragile. I cannot conceive of what momentary insanity persuaded either of you that such a technique would work."

"Sometimes you have to try something, even if it won't work. The ink was fading, and it would have been illegible in another decade, anyway." Elrohir argued back heatedly, offended by the insult to his twin, even though he found Elladan's experiments frustrating at times, too.

Melpomaen had been about to enter the long gallery, but he didn't know if he could take the arguing today. Normally, the twins were busy with their weapons training, but this winter had been so severe, that even Glorfindel had reduced the hours he expected his soldiers to spend out-of-doors. The twins had been finding other ways to pass the time, to less than universal appreciation. Mel got tired of being in the middle.

Glorfindel had faced a balrog, but if he had to deal with one more day of his elflings arguing with Elrond's elflings, he might toss all of them out into the snow. He met Melpomaen's eyes in a rare moment of perfect intergenerational understanding, "Why don't we go for a ride, daerion-nin?" He invited the younger elf.

Melpomaen blinked. "The ground is covered in half a dozen feet of snow, my Lord." He protested faintly.

Both elves winced as Elladan shouted, "Sometimes I feel like you two value anything that's over two thousand years old more than teaching me how to do anything!"

Melpomaen changed his mind. "A ride sounds good." He told his adoptive father's grandfather, who still intimidated him, at times.

"Sometimes I think we're the only ones with sense." Glorfindel shook his head, "Even my sensible Erestor gets drawn into their nonsense, at times like this."

"Well," Melpomaen offered, as he and the elder elf retreated from the long gallery, towards the stables, "The twins did accidentally destroy irreplaceable ancient books. Ada hates that. And someone has to take Lord Elrond's side, I suppose."

"Nothing justifies this much...." Glorfindel fumbled for a word to describe the past week's arguments.

"Unnecessary angst?" Melpomaen offered, his hands nearly as swift about saddling his mount as the balrog slayer's.

"I was thinking unadulterated idiocy, but that works, too." Glorfindel commented, as the two elves rode into the snow covered woods surrounding Imladris. They might not be able to ride far this day, but sometimes, retreat was the better part of valor. Even a balrog slayer knew that. Glorfindel's lips twitched, fighting a smile, as it occurred to him that being the twins' best friend might take more on-going valor than fighting a balrog.

"But its more rewarding, as well." Melpomaen reproved him, respectfully, when Glorfindel said so aloud.

"I suppose so, Melpomaen." The reborn elf conceded, "but as much as I love Elrond's oldest sons, I do not envy you your role as their gwador."

"Nor I yours, as their commander. Winter will end, in time. And Elrohir is very enthusiastic about some of Elladan's new plans for orc-fighting." Melpomaen commented, not bothering to hide his answering laugh as Glorfindel groaned.


	7. Yuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen first saw combat almost three thousand years before her husband was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set when Arwen is young, probably around T.A. 300, when she is about 90 years old.

Arwen crouched, waiting. Waiting. Now. She flew from concealment, using moves she had practiced thousands of times but never used in earnest, never before.

It was enough. The light in the bandit’s eyes went out, and he collapsed. Arwen pulled her sword free, and looked around.

Elrohir held up his hands, “Well-fought, muinthel-laes. The one you dispatched was the last.”

Adrenaline fading, Arwen looked around more carefully. Their party was intact, unharmed. She turned back to the man she had killed. Second born, but kin and kindred none the less. All the more so, to a child of Elrond Peredhel. A wave of sorrow overtook her, and it was just too much.

“Clean your blade.” Elladan prompted gently from beside her.

Arwen shook her head, and looked to her sword. It was covered in blood and something thicker, more viscous. “Yuck.” Arwen commented, heart-felt. It wasn’t the grossness; it was the fact of the death she had dealt. But the twins seemed to understand.

“It is yuck.” Elladan agreed gently, “Wipe it on the grass, like so.” Arwen did so, feeling clumsy, awkward, sick.

“It will come clean, muinthel-nin.” Belemir comforted, suddenly beside her. “It will be well, I promise. Not now, but soon.” He squeezed her hand. Arwen nodded woodenly.

That night, she put her bedroll beside Belemir’s, and he held her while she cried. But she would love her brothers, all three, forever, for helping her make it through that moment, that afternoon, through til that night, when no one but her own closest brother knew she had wept. Not because she was afraid to show weakness, but because that was what she would have wanted, what she did want. To hold herself together, until then. And the twins and Belemir, Valar bless them, knew that because they knew her, and helped her.

Arwen never met their equal, until Estel. And Estel’s sons, Faramir and Eldarion, who were her sons as well. Both her sons, by bonds of love, though only Eldarion was hers by blood.


	8. Journey Back from Annuminas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen and the twins and their companions, and an uncomfortable journey back from Annuminas earlier in the Third Age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kaylee for all of her help developing the characterization of the older generation of elves at Imladris, for purposes of the DH AU, especially Glorfindel's family in the AU, and for help with Quenya and Sindarin. Thanks to Holly and Figwit also for help with characterization of the Imladris elves, and for being very encouraging when I asked to borrow Mel. And thanks again to Emma and Kaylee for helping me develop the structure of Lord Elrond's family for purposes of the DH AU. Thanks also to Lou and Kaylee and everyone else who has said they like to read about Mel! I have certainly been enjoying writing about him as a foil for the twins, and an eventual explanation for why it is that Elladan often knows just what to say to Faramir, or what to tell Aragorn to say to Faramir.
> 
> This ficlet takes place on or about T.A. 602. This fic introduces Lord Ingloren, an OC who will still be an important elf in Imladris when its most famous fosterling is there near the end of the Third Age.

Young Lord Melpomaen Erestorion squirmed uncomfortably in his saddle, sandwiched between his gwedyr the twin Lords of Imladris and their mounts on the narrow path through the Weather Hills. They were taking the least time route between Annuminas and Rivendell, rather than the Great East Road. It was not a route fit for any but experienced and capable warriors and trackers. The path they followed was less well defined than most of the deer paths Mel had known in his over five centuries of life. He would not have liked to have had to find their way alone, though Elrohir probably could have managed it. Fortunately that was not needful, as their company included several elves who had been experienced trackers since at least the middle of the second age. Drystan, Melpomaen's first armsmaster, now a soldier in service to Lord Elrond (under the command of Captain Glorfindel) brought up the rear of their column. He was followed by Elrohir, then Melpomaen, Elladan, the twins' younger sister Arwen, then Lord Ingloren (the chief alchemist of Imladris), the twins' younger brother Belemir, and another guard (Thenithol, son of Moicasion, the next most renowned healer at Imladris after Elrond, and his wife Gailest, a famous painter). Lieutenant Caradhon, Captain Glorfindel's second in command, led the column.

Technically, the highest ranking member of their party was Elrohir, as Elrond's oldest son and heir. However, Elrohir was a few years younger than Melpomaen, and, at less than five centuries of age, still quite young for an elf. Therefore, Elrond had sent Lord Ingloren to ride herd on Imladris' delegation to the funeral of King Tarondor and the coronation of his son Valandur as the new King of Arnor. Mostly, Ingloren, who much preferred his work as an alchemist and all-around observer of the natural world, let Elrohir make all of the decisions, except in the rare instances where he saw a problem with the course Elrohir was minded to take. Ingloren's favorite pupil was Elrohir's twin brother Elladan. The younger twin was equally fond of Ingloren, whose title had been granted by Aran Finarfin in Aman, well before Ingloren had elected to come to help defend Middle Earth against Morgoth as a member of the host of the Valar. After the War of Wrath, Ingloren had elected to stay in Middle Earth, and he had become a valued friend and advisor to Ereinion Gil-galad, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, and Lord Elrond. Lord Ingloren was a wise elf and a kind one, although not as patient as one might expect from an elf who purposely and even joyfully spent large amounts of time with Elladan. He was also not an elf who took almost losing the only son of Lord Elrond's chief advisor lightly, as Melpomaen had learned on this trip. Melpomaen blushed a little as he again could not help but wriggle in his saddle. Lord Ingloren had birched him thoroughly the last time they had stopped in a town, the settlement just south of the North Downs. Fortunately, that had been over a day ago, and Melpomaen had managed most of the day's ride in relative comfort, aided by the slightly more frequent than normal breaks Elrohir had called. But as the day wore on, Melpomaen's discomfort increased. Unfortunately for his sore backside, Melpomaen was quite sure that neither Elrohir nor Ingloren would signal another halt until they reached the hunting supply cottage used by the men who kept up the Tower at Amon Sul, further to the south.

That prediction proved correct. Melpomaen could not hide a sigh of relief as they approached that shelter, although he tensed along with the older warriors and the twins as they smelled a campfire, where none had been expected. Elrohir motioned for Drystan and Thenithol to go forward and scout the unexpected presence of other beings, and Ingloren confirmed this order with an approving nod. Melpomaen gave the nervous Arwen and Belemir a reassuring look. It was, after all, most likely that the fire belonged to soldiers loyal to the King, on a hunting trip from their duty at Amon Sul.

Thenithol and Drystan returned, confirming that it was men of Arnor. Elrohir signalled for the party to continue, and Mel put forth, more timidly than was his normal wont these days, "Perhaps we should send someone ahead to announce our presence? They are our allies, but our numbers probably exceed their own, and we are clearly warriors."

"I don't think it needful." Elrohir disagreed, "We know most of these men, Mel, we've fought bandits beside them." Elrohir was mostly over being angry at Melpomaen for Mel's going off to help a disgraced advisor of King Valandur's prove his innocence in the murder of a royal page, but not entirely.

Elladan sighed. "We fought side by side with them forty years ago, gwanur-nin. Our compatriots may have all....moved on. There may well be a new garrison, who know us not at all." Belemir's eyes widened a little at the euphemism used by the twins for their shorter-lived mortal friends dying or retiring.

"Melpomaen's idea has merit." Lord Ingloren concurred, "Elrohir, perhaps it would be be best for you, Arwen, and Caradhon to approach, and the rest of us to follow on your signal."

Elrohir nodded his reluctant agreement. He didn't like putting his youngest sister in danger, but it was unlikely soldiers of the King would be anything but welcoming, and Arwen, an ellith, would put them at their ease, and make it clear that the elves were not here to attack.

Soon enough, the call of a night bird sounded through the gathering twilight, Elrohir's signal that all was well. The delegation from Imaldris was welcomed cheerfully by four human soldiers loyal to the King of Arnor, who graciously offered to share the fruits of the hunt with the elves. Elrohir accepted graciously, and the elves began to assist with setting up a larger camp as the Men asked them friendly questions about the coronation, and their family and friends in Annuminas.

Elrohir had been happily answering questions about mutual acquaintances in Annuminas, and had encouraged the rest of his party to do so as well. But he paused at the question about the coronation, and subtly looked to Ingloren for guidance.

"The coronation itself was without incident, and King Valandur seems a capable and promising man." Ingloren stated optimistically, "However, several of his previous supporters, Lord Aeglir and Sir Randir, were discovered to be in the pay of an Easterling merchant, a Master Khongordzul, and had committed crimes against the people of Arnor, at his order."

Elrohir cast a heated look at Mel, who sighed softly. Elladan patted Mel's shoulder supportively, and Belemir glared at his oldest brother. Ingloren subtly instructed Lord Elrond's youngest son to calm himself, as one of the men of Arnor asked in surprise, "Khongordzul the wine merchant? Who owns that big house by the lake?"

"The same." Ingloren confirmed. "He was banished, and Lord Aeglir fled with him. Sir Randir was....found out, trying to conceal their crimes, and unfortunately killed before he could be brought before the King."

"That's unfortunately not a surprise, about Sir Randir." The most senior of the soldiers of Arnor commented regretfully, "I served with him once, in the far north. He had a vicious streak, and no mistake."

Mel rubbed his throat, where he had a healing cut as proof of Sir Randir's viciousness. Fortunately, it was mostly covered by his cloak, so it should not attract attention. Elrohir frowned at Melpomaen, this time in concern. Mel nodded back, and flashed Elrohir the hand signs the twins used to say "ok" and then "thank you," discreetly. Elrohir had killed Sir Randir to save Mel, and no one thought that had been a bad decision except maybe Mel, who wasn't sure that his life was worth whatever Randir may have known about the plot that had resulted in the death of Lord Aeglir's page when he overheard some details of it. But Mel did appreciate that his gwador had saved his life, and he didn't want Elrohir to feel guilty for it.

Elrohir did feel somewhat guilty, as he would for taking any human life. But he had been born to the sword, his uncle Elros' traits more clearly evident in him than his father's, and he did not regret in any way taking the life of a murderer to save his gwador's.

"Our cousin King Valandur has posthumously knighted the royal page, Tinurond, who lost his life in the uncovering of their crimes." Arwen explained, "as well as reinstated Lord Galadil, who had been framed for the murder of poor Tinurond."

"Tinurond," mused one of the men, who were all saddened to hear of the death of such an innocent, just as the elves had been, "was he not a cousin of one of the Northern lords?"

"Yes." Melpomaen answered shortly, ignoring Ingloren's warning look, "a second cousin of Lord Galadil himself."

"Poor Galadil." The oldest of the Men offered sadly, before wondering, "How King Valandur ever thought he could have murdered anyone in cold blood, I don't know. My own cousin had to teach Galadil to hunt, and once told me that his young Lord mourned the death of even a rabbit or squirrel."

"Even the wise can be misled by overwhelming physical evidence," Elladan explained, "though I too, agree Galadil would be an unlikely murderer."

"And that it is well his name was cleared." Belemir put in, with a subtle look of disapproval for Ingloren, who had instructed all of the elves to take a hands off approach to the matter, while the human justice system worked.

Melpomaen nudged the younger elf reprovingly. Ingloren was worthy of respect, and Melpomaen certainly should not have gone off alone with Galidor. It had been unwise of him, as well as setting a poor example for Lord Elrond's heirs, who came up with enough brave but stupid ideas of their own, in Mel's opinion. Mel was reluctant to think of what his own father would have to say about the incident, whenever Erestor returned from Lothlorien.

Belemir subsided, and Ingloren steered the conversation back towards the humans' knowledge of Lord Randir's past military service. As the shadows lengthened, Ingloren's eyes met Melpomaen's, causing Mel to conceal a wince, which he did with the panache of four plus centuries of experience as the twins' closest companion.

"I am going to bathe in the creek." Ingloren said, speaking of a small but clean and sweet source of water which bubbled up from a spring not far away. "Melpomaen, perhaps you would accompany me?"

Melpomaen swallowed nervously as his stomach fluttered in nervous anticipation of another interview with Ingloren, who was a good friend of his father's formidable grandfather. "Yes, hir nin." He agreed, and no trace of his reluctance or unhappiness showed in his tone or demeanor. Still, the other elves could well guess that Ingloren would take advantage of this relative safety and privacy to re-light the fire on poor Melpomaen's bottom. Elrohir, and Caradhon and Drystan, seemed to approve, although Elladan and Thenithol both seemed sympathetic. The "little twins" fortunately seemed unaware of all of the subtext, since Melpomaen was known to be one of the most likely of them to seize upon any opportunity to bathe, even whilst in the wild.

Ingloren and Melpomaen walked a little over fifteen minutes until they were near the source of the spring itself, where a pool formed in a sandy basin, well sized for bathing. A small waterfall less than three feet in height tumbled cheerfully into the basin, loud enough, with the distance, to conceal anything Ingloren might choose to say, or do, to Melpomaen. The two elves were still close enough to the rest of their party to summon help were they to sound their horn, or even yell out loudly. But Melpomaen did not fear Ingloren would punish him so severely that he might scream. Ingloren could be strict, but he was kind. Much like Lord Glorfindel, for that matter. Lord Glorfindel, Mel's own adopted father's grandfather, whom Melpomaen was not looking forward to seeing in a few short days when they arrived at Imladris.

"Oh, he is going to be furious, not with you, but with the choices you made." Lord Ingloren commented, not without sympathy, as he fluently read the concern in Melpomaen's brown eyes. "But I will offer you a choice, pen-neth. Normally I would consider our discussion the other night to suffice for the price you owe me for your folly and disregard of your own safety. But acting as regent of Imladris puts your grandfather's temper in an uncertain state to begin with. If you would prefer it, I shall punish you a second time, and tell your grandfather that I have done so, and that I consider further physical consequences for your actions to be unnecessary and excessive."

Melpmaen didn't hesitate. "I would prefer that, Hir Nin." He answered gratefully, though he did not look forward at all to the coming punishment, and he positively dreaded the ride tomorrow. But Erestor, who would normally deal with his erring son, was likely still with Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian in Lothlorien, discussing several disturbing rumors that had come to the ears of the twins' grandparents who ruled there. Which left Lord Glorfindel in charge of Imladris, and, for that matter, the discipline of his young (relatively speaking) great-grandson (by adoption). Melpomaen apparently (according to Erestor) resembled rather closely his great-great-grandfather, an elf of Gondolin who had been dear to the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. And Glorfindel consequently took a very dim view of Melpomaen almost dying. Even when he wasn't almost constantly in a poor temper for having to "do Elrond's job," a task for which Glorfindel viewed himself as "fundamentally unsuited on grounds of temperament," because the balrog-slayer viewed himself as a "sensible warrior elf, not a ruler."

Elrond could tell his Captain to stop grousing, but that was Lord Elrond. Erestor could ask his anatar to please not take his temper out on the other elves of Imladris, and Glorfindel would actually appear abashed, and try not to do so. But that was Erestor. Lady Celebrian could tell Lord Glorfindel how much he resembled her mother in a temper, and that would inevitably stun Glorfindel for at least a few moments. But that was Lady Celebrian. Melpomaen and almost every other elf of Imladris just had to put up with their much-loved Captain when he was in his rare tempers, which more often than not happened only when he had been asked by his Lord to serve as regent of Imladris in Elrond's absence. Or when Elrond or a member of Elrond's family, or a member of Glofindel's own family (including Melpomaen) had been in danger.

"A wise choice, tithen-mellon-nin." Ingloren observed kindly. "The light is poor for gathering twigs for a birch, so cut me a switch of that willow, and we'll see this matter finished."

"Yes, hir nin." Melpomaen agreed politely if without enthusiasm, obeying the instruction as quickly as he could. He hoped Lord Ingloren would not think him malingering. Melpomaen was in fact doing his best to obey promptly, but the dying sun and pale sliver of a moon offered little light, and it had been many years since Melpomaen had last been asked to prepare a switch. He had earned a switching a few times since coming to Imladris, more often than not in connection with some scheme of the twins', but Erestor generally preferred a ruler for disciplining his son, so it had been an uncommon request. When Melpomaen had been an elfling under the care of his birth father Edrahil, or the first armsmaster Edrahil had hired to train Mel, before Drystan became Mel's armsmaster, he had been switched on a fairly regular basis, for infractions real and imagined, and rather more harshly than he was likely to be punished by any elf of Imaldris.

"Is this sufficient, my Lord?" Melpomaen asked, offering the switch he had prepared to Lord Ingloren.

"This is fine," Ingloren answered, patting Melpomaen's shoulder fondly as he took the offered implement. "Over my lap, Erestorion," he directed, as he took a seat on a large branch of a water-leaning tree.

Melpomaen was confused for a moment, as more distant memories fought with those closer in time and less frightening. Ingloren's wise blue eyes read a little of that past, and his voice was gentler still as he explained, "You'll be fine over my knee, Melpomaen. I'm not planning to swing the switch enthusiastically enough to require you to bend over something else. And you may as well doff your boots and trousers and armor, as I suspect you will want to bathe after we are done."

Melpomaen blushed and nodded, carefully removing his outer layers as directed, and laying himself over the ancient elf's knees worriedly. Although the night was cool, Melpomaen was not uncomfortable. He had no human blood, and did not feel the cold as his friends Elrond's children sometimes did. Ingloren helped Melpomaen to settle himself as comfortably as possible, and offered kindly, "Feel free to hold onto me, elfling, if you need the support. I would normally wait until we had a better venue for this type of lesson, but we must make do."

Melpomaen nodded, and then gasped as Lord Ingloren's hand fell heavily upon his still sore backside. Soon enough, he was yelping softly in helpless protest and squirming unwillingly as the elder elf's firm hand administered a sound spanking. After the entire surface of Melpomaen's bottom felt likely to burst into flame, Ingloren paused. "What will you do, in the future, should a human accused of murder whom you think is innocent invite you to help find the real killer?"

Melpomaen, sobbing softly by that point, offered, "Tell ....you, and 'Roh and 'Dan." Melpomaen knew what mistakes he had made, and did in fact feel very badly for having handled himself in such a way that Elrohir had no choice but to kill the only witness who knew the extent of the plot and didn't manage to escape. But he wanted to make absolutely sure that Ingloren knew that he understood how he had erred, so he expanded, "Tell everyone. All the elves."

Ingloren chuckled lightly at the wording, and rubbed Melpomaen's back soothingly as the younger elf managed to calm his crying. "Tell your friends and their senior advisor, or whomever happens to be your superior on a given expedition, certainly. Telling our entire group would have been fine, too. Telling all the elves at Imladris I know you would never do, as you are your father's son and the soul of discretion." Ingloren's voice became more stern, "However, I, like your family and your gwedyr, refuse to lose you just because you didn't stop to think. So, we are not quite done."

Mel took a deep breath at that reminder, which was immediately followed by Ingloren's gently resting the switch on his sore bottom, then lifting and bringing it back down with a flick of his wrist. Melpomaen winced at the sting of the switch on his thoroughly spanked bottom, and Ingloren tightened his hold on the younger elf. "Five more, tithen-pen-nin." The elder elf warned.

Melpomaen nodded and braced himself, and the switch landed five more times. Melpomaen yelped loudly at each of the last three stinging impacts, though he could tell Ingloren was wielding the switch with great restraint. After giving Melpomaen a moment to regain his composure, Lord Ingloren pulled his friend's great-grandson gently into his lap, careful of the young elf's glowing bottom. "There, my dear young Lord." Ingloren soothed, "As I told you after our last discussion, you are forgiven your mistakes. We love you dearly and could not imagine Imladris without you, so we need you to be more careful."

Melpomaen nodded, accepting the cloth Ingloren offered to wipe his face, and relaxing against Elladan's mentor for a few moments. Ingloren was not Glorfindel, but he was enough like Erestor's grandfather, and thus reminiscent of Melpomaen's loving adopted father, that Melpomaen found his wise presence and strong arms comforting. Then both elves heard the call of an owl, though it was a bit too early for such a bird to be hunting so vocally.

"That," Ingloren observed with a chuckle, "Is my favorite journeyman alchemist coming to see I've not killed you." He offered Melpomaen a hand to rise, not commenting in any way at the younger elf's stilted rather than graceful movements.

Melpomaen laughed despite himself. "And his twin, hoping that maybe you have."

It was indeed the twins, but even Elrohir's upset with Melpomaen seemed to have reached its limit. Both twins embraced their gwador. Ingloren accompanied Thenithol, who had come with the twins, back to their camp, while the twins and Mel went to bathe in the pool of the stream.

"Ow." Observed Elladan with great sympathy, as Melpomaen removed his undertunic, revealing his bright red backside, and immersed himself in the water.

"Still, better Ingloren than Daerada Glor." Elrohir observed, "You definitely made the right choice, in case you're wondering, Mel."

Melpomaen nodded, feeling too tired and sore for further discussion of that agreed-upon point. "I still have to tell him what happened." He related sadly to his best friends. "And I've no idea how."

"We'll go with you, gwador to tell him. And I'll explain that I was being a blind prat, blaming Galadil for the death of that poor child, and you didn't want to make me look bad by arguing with me about it on one of my first commands." Elrohir offered, in a sudden reversal of his previous "you deserve whatever punishment you catch for being that stupid, Mel, and if its not enough I may spank you myself," position.

Melpomaen's eyes widened in surprise (although that was true enough), but before he could express his thanks, Elladan offered, "And I'll tell Glor you didn't want to pull me into it like you normally would have because you didn't want to cause a rift between me and Ingloren, after we had already argued so fiercely about those investments Lord Aeglir was championing on King Valandur's council." That was also true; everyone who knew Elladan well had breathed a sigh of relief at his finally encountering a mentor in the art of alchemy whom he both respected and could not easily bamboozle. But neither twin's offer was without risk. Whatever punishment Glorfindel decided to assign Mel, though it probably would not be yet another spanking, might fall on the twins as well, if they offered themselves as targets for his worried fury. But the twins knew that, and intended to go through with their defense of Melpomaen's actions, anyway. Melpomaen just nodded, and grasped each of his gwedyr's hands briefly in wordless thanks.

When the friends had finished bathing, Elrohir gently stopped Melpomaen before he could reach for his clothing, and Elladan took a small pouch of numbing cream from his cloak pocket, and spread it with the exquisite tenderness of a well-trained healer on Mel's still throbbing bottom. Mel breathed a sigh of profound relief as the pain diminished from a roar to a yell, and murmured his thanks. The twins helped him to dress, and as they slowly back to the camp, Elrohir tossed out, "You know Glor only gets so angry and yells at you so much when you've been in danger because he loves you, right?"

"I...understand that, I do," Melpomaen explained, "but it is still...intimidating." It was more than intimidating, but the twins were so familiar with the balrog-slayer who had soothed their infant nightmares that they had no concept of how overwhelming the living legend, berating a young elf for his carelessness, could possibly seem to Mel, who had come to Imladris as nearly an adult elf, and a shy one, at that.

"Make sure to meet his eyes when he yells at you." Elladan urged, "Glor doesn't like it when elves won't meet his eyes, especially family and friends. He thinks it is either rude, or that he has you terrified, and he would hate that anyone he cares for would be frightened of him."

"Thank you, Elladan, I did not realize." Melpomaen replied, startled and well aware that he frequently became so overcome with remorse and, yes, sometimes terror, when called to account by Erestor's formidable grandfather, that he was unable to look at anything but the ground. But if Glorfindel viewed such behavior as rude, or would be upset that Mel was scared of him, then Melpomaen would just have to be brave and meet his eyes.

Elrohir waited until Melpomaen's attention was on an actual owl, in pursuit of a squirrel, before subtly flicking his twin's sensitive ear.

Elladan winced but didn't give Elrohir so much as a reproachful look. He knew what his twin was annoyed about. Erestor and Elrond had both told them, in no uncertain terms, that Melopmaen's continuing shyness around Glorfindel, while regrettable, was none of the twins' business.

Elrohir flicked his twin's ear again, harder, so that Elladan would look at him. *Sneaky.* Elrohir scolded when Elladan met his eyes, *I want them to actually talk to eachother instead of at cross purposes as well, but if Melpomaen meets his eyes, Glorfindel will read every thought Mel has while they're talking. You know that.*

*I do, and I feel badly about misleading our gwador, but...* Elladan paused to help Mel scare a well-padded owl away from a slender mama rabbit. *There's something he's not telling us, about how upset he was when you killed Lord Randir, or about some other aspect of the whole debacle in Annuminas. Its time and past Glorfindel realized that Melpomaen is on the very edge of actually scared of him when Glor is mad, anyway. And maybe Glor can pick up on whatever Mel's not saying, and deal with it, before it becomes another Falathar, or Mithlond.*

Elrohir had to admit there was some wisdom in that. Elladan really had a genius sometimes, when it came to helping elves and humans to heal their mental hurts. But still, *Glorfindel is wise, but he is the opposite of subtle, most of the time. Even if he picks up on whatever Mel isn't willing to tell us, he might just handle it so brusquely that Mel is more traumatized. Not because Glor doesn't love him, but just because he doesn't know how to handle him. I think we should wait for Erestor to get back, and let him figure it out.*

Elladan rolled his eyes expressively, *Because that worked SO very well with Falathar. No, even Erestor can't read Mel's mind, when Mel has decided not to share something. Maybe Glorfindel can, this time. And I think you are, oddly, underestimating Glor in this instance.*

Elrohir frowned. The balrog-slayer was his mentor, the elf Elrond's heir most wanted to be like. Normally it was Elrohir who thought Glorfindel was near perfect, and Elladan who viewed him as merely worthy of great respect and admiration. *Underestimating, how?* He asked his know-it-all twin.

Elladan grinned. *Glorfindel became Erestor's friend, of Erestor's own choice. Mind you, that was before either of them knew that Glor's son had survived Gondolin, and given Glorfindel a grandson in Erestor. I'm betting Glorfindel can become Mel's friend, as well as .... what is it he calls Glor....oh yes, "my Adar's grandfather," if Glorfindel has a clue as to what Mel is thinking.* Elladan shrugged gracefully, *I'm just helping Glor catch a clue.*

Elrohir rolled his eyes at his manipulative twin, but was forced to admit he didn't necessarily disagree.

Melpomaen had been vaguely aware that the twins were discussing something, that probably had to do with him, but he was too tired to care, in that moment. Arwen and Belemir, who had been taking cooking classes with Siana and Drystan, presented Mel and the twins with bowls of the stew they had helped the men of Arnor to make. The twins gracefully laid down on their stomachs on top of their bedrolls facing the fire, giving Mel every excuse to mimic them. The food was delicious, and the company was pleasant. Mel was tired enough afterward to sleep comfortably through the night, safe between the twins, despite his discomfort. Lieutenant Caradhon skipped Mel in the watch rotation, but since only three of the elves needed to be part of the schedule in any given night, and they were changing it constantly to further train Arwen and Belemir, no one except the twins and Ingloren even noticed. The next morning, as the elves bid their new human friends a cheerful farewell, Mel was physically a bit more uncomfortable in his saddle, but his mood was somehow lighter than it had been the previous day. It might just have been that Elrohir was no longer angry at him, but it might also have been that he could tell the twins were plotting something. Whatever it was, Mel would have to be on his toes, to either contain the disaster, or if it was a necessary one, to aid his best friends in achieving their objectives with minimal fall-out.

Lord Ingloren also noticed the twins' subtle gestures and occasional distraction. It made him pause to ask Eru and the Valar, silently but fervently, to please protect and guide Melpomaen Erestorion, who protected and guided the eldest sons of Lord Elrond.


	9. That's just how you play the game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, even a seasoned campaigner such as Captain Glorfindel needs help figuring out the rules of the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in about T.A. 250. Arwen and Belemir are about 10 and 15, respectively. Andreth is almost 50. The twins are young soldiers, and Melpomaen is a young scribe working for his adoptive father.

Spring rain poured down in sheets on Imladris, canceling outdoors weapons practice and making it impossible for Lord Elrond's two youngest children to play outside.

Blond, teenaged Andreth nudged her older brother Elladan, nodding with a grin towards the game of toy soldiers going on in the middle of the room, where Glorfindel had been helping Belemir and Arwen to have their elven and human toy soldiers (called "Amroth's Army," after their cousin Amroth who had been the first owner of the longest-serving of the toys) face off against Sauron and his armies of orcs and humans.

Elladan dropped his quill with an answering smile, and kicked his twin. Elrohir's grin matched his brother's, and he tugged on Melpomaen's sleeve.

Melpomaen looked up from his book with a distracted "Hmm?," but quickly a smile slid across his face, only to be replaced by a polite, amused expression.

The young elves and teenaged Andreth turned their attention to Belemir, Arwen and Glorfindel.

"So," Glorfindel said, "Now that Amroth's army has won the battle, and the hordes of Mordor have been defeated, we can analyze how Amroth's army could fight even better next time."

"Ok." Arwen accepted, "Right after the ball." She handed Glorfindel and Belemir several brightly colored, toy-soldier sized fancy tunics, and hummed a waltz to herself as she started dressing her female soldiers in their pretty dresses.

Glorfindel paused, confused.

Belemir started pulling the small velvet tunics onto his favorite soldiers, and began humming a counterpoint to the waltz.

Glorfindel's jaw dropped, and it took him a few moments to collect himself enough to speak. "Ah..." Glorfindel interjected at last, "How is a ball part of playing toy soldiers?"

Elladan and Andreth started laughing, and Elrohir and Melpomaen coughed, although it sounded quite a bit like stifled laughter.

"That's just how you play the game, Glorry." Arwen explained, confused as to why her honorary great-uncle seemed perplexed and displeased.

Belemir explained, "I want to play soldiers every day, and Arwen wants to play dancing and weddings every day. So we play soldiers at war, and then we have a ball, and they dance. Sometimes a wedding, too, if it was a long war."

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed at the older twins, Andreth and Melpomaen. "Interesting that you four cackling hyenas decided to study and work in here today." He commented.

"Interesting that you didn't know how the game was played, when they've only been doing it this way for a year and a half now." Elladan riposted back, grinning unashamedly at his Captain.

Arwen narrowed her eyes at Glorfindel. "I think we should have a wedding, too. And that your soldier should get married, Glorry. Because you don't look like you're having fun." Arwen felt rather put-out. She liked playing toy soldiers, but nowhere near as much as Glorfindel and Belemir did. And she'd been really patient about playing their game how Glorfindel wanted to play it. It was only two hours until dinner, and they'd been playing war since lunch. It wasn't fair that Glorfindel now didn't want to play the part of the game that was Arwen's favorite.

Belemir grinned at his sister, "It was a long war, so a wedding's ok. But can we have a dragon interrupt the ball this time, 'Wen?" Belemir loved playing the dragon, and normally he had to play the husband, but since one of Glorfindel's soldiers was getting married today, Belemir could be the growling, roaring dragon.

Arwen considered that, pulling out the toy dragon. "Yes, I think so." She decided, "But only if Nana-soldier gets to kill the dragon, and she and Ada-soldier get married afterwards."

That sounded good to Belemir, who was setting up a table as a ballroom.

Glorfindel shook his head, but decided to play along. A smile tugging at his lips, Glorfindel determiend that it would be some fun to play the Elrond-soldier, afraid of a dragon, anyway. "You four," He said to Andreth, her brothers, and his adoptive great-grandson with a grin, "Go get your instruments. This ball needs music."

Arwen clapped her hands with delight, and Glorfindel was back in her good graces.

The twins, Andreth, and Melpomaen obediently fetched their instruments and music, judging an hour or so spent in one of the littles' games as a price fairly paid for the prize of having seen Glorfindel so gob-smacked.


	10. It Runs in the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the celebration after the wedding of Arwen and Aragorn, Faramir and his future bride conspire with Faramir's Dol Amroth family to save the King and Queen from too much serious business, and Lord Elladan tells Lord Faramir the story of how Elrond's family had forewarning, about Arwen's matrimonial fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kaylee for reviewing most of this! Any remaining mistakes are mine, and probably in the sections that Kaylee didn't get to read ahead of time.
> 
> Please note that this chapter of Tales of the Elves of Imladris may later end up double-posted as chapter 6 or so of Beginnings & Endings.
> 
> A/N: The Prologue and Epilogue are set in early summer of 3019, during the celebration following the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, after the end of the War of the Ring. The flashback is set in Imladris, in T.A. 259, when Arwen was a young part-elf of nineteen years of age, so probably somewhere in the range of a 7 - 9 year old human, considering that elves who are a quarter human may well age differently.
> 
> Eowyn and Faramir quotes:
> 
> Faramir: "The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny. Eowyn, Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!' And he stooped and kissed her brow.
> 
> And so they stood on the walls of the City of Gondor, and a great wind rose and blew, and their hair, ...[red] and golden, streamed out mingling in the air."
> 
> \---------
> 
> Eowyn: "Would you have you proud folk say to you: "There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Numenor to choose?" '
> 
> 'I would,' said Faramir. And he took her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many. And many indeed saw them and the light that shone about them as they came down from the walls and went hand in hand to the Houses of Healing."
> 
> -From Tolkien's Return of the King.
> 
> Arwen Quotes
> 
> Arwen: "Mine is the choice of Lúthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter."
> 
> \- Tolkien
> 
> Arwen, to Aragorn: "I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone."
> 
> \- From the Newline film adaptation of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings Trilogy

T.A. 3019, early spring, the Great Hall of Feasts in the Citadel of Minas Tirith, night of the wedding of Elessar Telcontar to Arwen Undomiel

Faramir, the newly-reconfirmed Steward of Gondor, stood near the entrance to the Great Hall of Feasts. It was the same place where his father Denethor had been wont to stand, when he was not seated at the head table, waiting for men come to talk to him. Only Denethor would never have half-leaned against a marble column, as Faramir now was. But Denethor had rarely been still recovering from grievous wounds, and tired besides from helping to arrange the wedding of the newly Returned King. And in any case, Faramir meant to be a different kind of Steward, in many ways, than his father had been.

Faramir frowned, and Eowyn nudged his good shoulder, "You are wandering through unhappy memories again, my beloved Faramir." She scolded lightly, a smile still on her face as if she was merely commenting on the beauty of the evening, or something equally inconsequential. Eowyn continued, "Stop that. Come back, and tell me what this song means, instead."

Faramir smiled down at his beautiful betrothed, still marveling that this incredible woman wanted to marry him. Obligingly, he told her the history of this dance, and what the old, old words in early Westron meant. At the same time, Faramir forced himself to be fair to his own father the old Steward. After all, Faramir recognized that he would have the freedom to be a different kind of Steward, in large part because the King had returned. Lord Aragorn, now Elesssar Telcontar, dancing with his beautiful bride. Faramir smiled at the beautiful sight that they made, Elessar Telcontar and Arwen Undomiel, whirling around the stone floor of the Great Hall of Feasts, so happy to be together. Then Faramir's eyes narrowed as he noted three Lords of Gondor lurking near the royal couple, waiting to bring their own concerns to the King. On a night when any man, even a King, should have some freedom to just be a newly-wedded husband.

"In Rohan, the King's riders would surround a newly married King and his bride, keeping all but her women away for the night." Eowyn commented quietly, still with the polite smile on her face, though she wished to be able to go and give the nobles surrounding the new King and Queen the sharp side of her tongue. Eowyn saw Faramir's golden-haired cousin Lothiriel approaching as she spoke, but did not change the topic of conversation. A tentative friendship had formed between the White Lady of Rohan and the Prince of Dol Amroth's daughter, despite Eowyn's uncertain temper in the days following the Ring War. Lothiriel seemed well able to put up with what Faramir had described in Eowyn as a 'a touch of battle-sickness, but never fear, meleth, it will pass and you will feel yourself again.'

Indeed, Lothiriel dimpled at Eowyn, and her tone was equally light and polite, though her words were fierce, "Here, in Gondor, where the King has been long missing and his guard with him, we mostly rely on the old battle-axes to keep the hoariest of our Lordly fossils in line."

Eowyn just barely stifled a laugh, as Prince Imrahil sighed resignedly without losing his courteous expression, and scolded in a social tone of voice, as if conveying a compliment, "Really, iel-nin, remember your manners, please. What will Faramir's betrothed think of you?" Eowyn spared a moment to reflect that, if not for Grima and her latest deception, her expressions owuld have been an open book to these eople, her distant Dol Amroth cousins who read eyes and faces like books, and danced with a grace surpassing any Eowyn had seen in Men, excepting only Aragorn.

Lothiriel's blue-violet eyes flashed an apology, though her pleasant, amused expression didn't change.

Eowyn's personal opinion was that Lothiriel's chatty, cheerful, but diplomatic frankness would go over quite well in Rohan, which might be quite relevant, in time. After all, an Eomer who was married off to a woman whom Eowyn liked, a woman who had not been scared off by Eowyn's occasionally losing her temper or being despondent, would be an Eomer who had less time to disapprove of Eowyn's actions. In particular, of Eowyn and Faramir's marriage. Lothiriel, like all of Imrahil's family, doted on Eowyn's beloved Faramir, and would not sit idly by and hear him insulted. Eowyn didn't really think that it was Faramir, specifically, who Eomer had taken a dislike to. She thought it was probably more circumstantial. She and Eomer had lost everyone except each other, and now Eowyn was in love, and wanting to spend as much time as possible with her betrothed Lord whom she would have to leave for months, in just a few days' time. If their positions had been reversed, Eowyn could quite easily see her having conceived of an irrational dislike towards the object of Eomer's affections. But that didn't make it easier to take from her brother, so both because she liked Lothiriel and wanted Faramir's only female cousin to like her back, and because she appreciated Lothiriel's sense of humor, Eowyn smiled at Lothiriel, and said lightly but with an intense sparkle in her blue eyes, "On the contrary, it sounds rather appropriate. But, who, pray-tell, are the "battle-axes?"

Lothiriel laughed gaily, and even Faramir chuckled. Imrahil shook his head at his daughter and nephew, though his own gray eyes twinkled as he explained to Eowyn, "'Twas my....late sister Finduilas' term, for the powerful eldest matriarchs of Gondor's lordly families, who wield strong influence over their kinsmen who number amongst our ruling Lords."

Faramir nodded discreetly in the direction of a knot of elegantly black-clad ladies, most of them appearing to Eowyn in their late middle age. Though Eowyn had been reminded again, from working at the House of Healing and speaking with Faramir's family, that those of Numenorean descent aged differently. Some of the dignified widows clad in mourning might well be approaching their first century, or even a bit past it. Such was one of the peculiar hall marks of the society to which the man Eowyn had fallen in love with belonged. Nor was it even that strange, Eowyn reflected, in comparison to the knowledge (also imparted by her betrothed) that Gondor's new Queen was nearly 3,000 years old. And that their new King, a man who appeared no more than a young forty years of age (and to whom Eowyn had once proposed in a bout of youthful infatuation and desperation that seemed almost a memory that belonged to someone else, though she blushed to think of it still despite the Queen's generous forgiveness), was well over 80 years old.

But amongst the widows of Gondor, Eowyn's heart ached to note that there were many young women, her own age and even less. That was a common sadness shared amongst Gondor and Eowyn's native Rohan, and it made her realize that they were not so different, her people and the Stanlendings who dwelt in their ancient stone cities. And it made her glad that Faramir had danced with so many of the black-clad ladies during the course of this celebration in honor of their new King's wedding. Even though earlier that evening she had struggled to explain her betrothed's dancing with so many other women to her brother. Eowyn had not been jealous, exactly, but...confused, certainly. And now she was simply glad that she had not shown ill grace over such an act of kindness.

"Uncle," Faramir said quietly beside Eowyn, "It seems that Erchirion and Amrothos have found something to quarrel over."

Eowyn looked to see Imrahil's second son, Erchirion the admiral, approaching them with his arm around his younger brother, Imrahil's youngest child and third son, Amrothos. It did not look as if the two were quarreling, at least not to Eowyn. But then she was accustomed to a rather bossy elder brother of her own, who had for many years had his own older brother figure in the person of their cousin, Theodred. Eowyn's eyes stung with tears for a moment in memory of lost Theodred, and so she missed whatever Imrahil said in reply to Faramir.

She did not, however, miss the frustration in Erchirion's voice as he loudly complained, "Ada! Amrothos has been gambling again!"

Eowyn winced, for it was likely that at least twenty or thirty other people had also heard Erchirion's complaint. Amrothos, held in place by his muscular elder brother's arm, merely sighed. Eowyn suspected that the younger Swan Knight could have made a bid for freedom, but didn't want to cause anymore of a scene.

Imrahil sighed, too. "Please calm yourself, Erchirion. While all of us would prefer that Amrothos would find other diversions to amuse him, your younger brother is not the first soldier to gamble, and he will not be the last." Imrahil gave both of his younger sons an admonishing look, which would have been harsh save for the affection in his eyes. Eowyn thought it was probably a 'behave in public,' look. It was rather similar to glances her brother Eomer had gotten from Faramir's kindly, helpful uncle, during the past few days. And at similar times, when Eomer had been about to expound with blunt honesty on topics he felt passionately about, in an unacceptably public place.

"Gambling isn't even illegal. Or even really that immoral, depending on what the stakes were." Lothiriel pointed out helpfully, giving her younger brother a sympathetic glance.

"The stakes were horses," Amrothos supplied with a cocky grin that turned into a more restrained, even slightly guilty expression, as his gaze turned to the intrigued Eowyn. "And money, assorted baubles, and ale, but mostly horses." He confessed to his father with a sigh.

Erchirion frowned, and even Imrahil gave Amrothos a disappointed look.

"How much did you win, 'Rothos?" Faramir asked in a light tone, his expression torn between approbation and amusement.

"Oh, everything they had." Amrothos replied, as if that hadn't really been in doubt. Which from the resigned expression on Prince Imrahil's face, Eowyn gathered with warring amusement and indignation, it hadn't been.

"How in Bema's name did you get Riders of Rohan to put their horses up as a stake?" Eowyn asked Amrothos, keeping her tone social and light, despite her strong feeling that horses were too important to wager. Though Eowyn knew that men of Rohan gambled as well, and sometimes with horses they dearly loved, and could not well afford to lose. She doubted that any of the Eored that had accompanied Eomer to this event would have been so foolish, however. Not without enticement that Eowyn could not even imagine.

"Oh, I just paraphrased some...things, back to them, that they had said to me, about a...friend, of mine." Amrothos supplied, his gray-blue eyes snapping with anger. His tone was controlled, though. Light, as if he were merely arguing the finer points of gambling as a diversion.

"Ai, Amrothos, we really do have to work on your temper, my son." Imrahil said, his tone one of quiet disappointment.

"Someone had to do it, Ada. Fara wouldn't. And he ordered his men not to." Amrothos replied defiantly, as Eowyn began to understand what had unfolded.

"Eomer," she hissed, planning to put cayenne pepper on her mouth of her brother's drinking flask, during their journey back to Meduseld. She had told her brother to lay off of Faramir, and here Eomer and his friends were, spouting off who-knew-what sour grapes to Faramir's own family. She flushed in shame.

Amrothos, for his part, gave Eowyn and then Faramir an apologetic look, having apparently not considered what Faramir's future wife and his cousin would think of his clever idea.

"You will be giving my future brother-by-law Eomer-King his horses back, won't you, cousin?" Faramir asked lightly, as if there was no doubt in his mind that Amrothos would, but Faramir was just stating the obvious so that his Uncle wouldn't be upset. Getting past her startlement that Eomer would have been so foolish as to gamble any of his beloved horses, Eowyn admired Faramir's handling of Amrothos, and thought again that her betrothed must have been a very good Captain.

"Aye, Fara, I already have." Amrothos reassured, with a shy smile of apology, directed towards Eowyn.

Eowyn had to smile back, unwillingly charmed by Faramir's youngest cousin, despite his outrageous if not entirely undeserved offenses against her countrymen and brother.

"I was tempted not to give back Rider Cynric's, or for that matter, Rider Fulton's." Amrothos relayed quietly, keeping a chastised mien, even though his eyes sparkled with irritation.

Sighing, Eowyn explained, "I am glad that you nonetheless returned their horses to them. Fulton is a cousin of ours on my father's side, and fiercely defensive of Eomer. And Cynric was much praised by my late Uncle." Not that Cynric had particularly deserved the praise, in Eowyn's opinion. Cynric had not only taken great offense at Eowyn's having rejected his proposal of marriage some years earlier, but he had also hesitated in giving his loyalty to Eomer over Grima Wormtongue. The first, Eowyn could forgive him. The second, she was not sure that she ever could. Nor was she far enough from those dark days that she could regret such a failure of charity.

"I hesitate to even ask what you extracted from them in exchange for giving them back their horses, ion-nin." Imrahil said, shaking his head.

"Oh, nothing important, Adar." Amrothos assured his father lightly.

Imrahil narrowed his eyes. "Ah, you asked them each to owe you a later favor of your asking, in exchange. And now you shall let Lothiriel redeem your favor from Eomer, for a dance."

"Oh, but Ada..." Amrothos protested, evidently having had other plans for such favors.

"Oh, good idea, Ada. I would like very much to get to know Eowyn's brother better." Lothiriel exclaimed happily, with a fond look for Eowyn, that didn't entirely hide her more prurient interest in Eomer.

Eowyn smiled back. Poor Eomer, who had always been more interested in horses than women, had found himself suddenly the target of any number of power-seekers, or just young women attracted to Rohan's attractive new King, with his air of sadness, rather than to Eomer himself. Thinking of that stirred Eowyn back to pity for her brother, despite their earlier brangling, so she agreed, "I think that Eomer would like that as well."

Imrahil seemed a bit torn. Faramir whispered underneath his breath, "He's become quite fond of your brother, Eowyn-my-love. But he does not like the idea of her living so far away as Rohan."

Erchirion, who evidently had sharp ears, snorted quietly. Good humor simmered in his expressive blue eyes as he related what Eowyn supposed must be a joke, "Do you know how to distinguish the Prince of Dol Amroth's household from that of any man other in Gondor?"

Faramir shook his head tolerantly. Seeing no help from that quarter, Eowyn answered, "Nay, cousin," with an encouraging smile, hoping that Erchirion would go on.

"By the number of his grown children who stay in his household." Imrahil supplied, with a good-natured glare at his middle son, before commanding him, "Chiri, ion-nin, stop man-handling your brother, and go with your sister to claim her dance. While you're there, talk to Eomer's senior eored captains about having the same shipwrights who built the river craft attendant on Third Fleet to build similar ships for the Anduin in Rohan."

Erchirion noticeably brightened at the mention of ship building, and did not, so far as Eowyn could tell, seem to have caught onto the subtext of Lothiriel's interest in Eomer. At least, if he had, he did not seem to mind leading her over to claim a dance.

"No, he doesn't realize." Faramir told her softly, with an amused half-smile. "I am not sure he will mind, when he does. He is protective of Liriel, as are we all, but has always expected to lose her in marriage to a good man such as your brother. More, Chiri especially would be pleased for to have something else to occupy her mind other than match-making for her unwed brothers."

Eowyn nodded, recalling with a pang of sympathy for Erchirion that Faramir's friend Nessa had told Eowyn of how the young Prince-Admiral's betrothed, the daughter of a Swan Knight, had died of a spring fever some years ago, and that he had never loved any other woman, before or since.

"Amrothos," Imrahil directed with a pleasant expression, although his soft-spoken words revealed that he was still exasperated with his youngest child, "You and Sir Bellasaer are going to go convince the Dragon of the Stonewain Valley to distract her son Lord Andasond and her son-by-law Lord Tarsten, before they can take King Elessar's attention away from his lovely new Queen."

Evidently considering that the better part of keeping company with his father, Amrothos smiled gamely, and went off to collect the handsome Sir Bellasaer.

Faramir's eyes scanned the remaining Lords who had an eye on the King, as if planning to seek an imminent audience with the new bridegroom. Eowyn admired how discreetly he did so, looking as if he were merely nodding to other acquaintances in the crowd, or perhaps seeking out something else of possible interest to his foreigner bride-to-be.

"Shall you distract Master Burgold, Uncle Imrahil, whilst I approach Lord Sendar, with my Lady Eowyn's aid?" Faramir turned to give Eowyn a shy, hopeful smile, one that she thought she could never get enough of. "If you are willing, of course, my Lady." He amended.

Before Eowyn could say that of course she was willing, and even interested (Sendar's merchant empire supplied many goods even to her native Rohan, after all), Imrahil shook his head.

"I can handle Burgold and Sendar both, Faramir. I have been since before you were in swaddling cloths." Prince Imrahil reprimanded, his face looking mildly amused even as his quiet voice took on the tone of a gentle reprimand. He looked to Faramir as if there were more he wanted to say, but then just shook his head, and gave Faramir a meaningful look, before turning to approach the head of the commodities guild and the merchant Lord.

Eowyn stood on tip-toe to whisper in Faramir's ear, "What was that about?" The gesture looked merely flirtatious; but the betrothed couple had used it several times, to exchange meaningful information about their respective parties, things that the man who was Steward and the sister of Rohan's King had best know. Eowyn had used similar guises, to exchange information with riders without attracting Grima Wormtongue's notice. One of those riders, in the earlier days, had been Cynric. With an internal grimace, Eowyn wondered if that was what had made him think that he had a chance to become her husband. Or if his apparent attractiveness to her had brought Grima to offer him who-knew-what inducement, to support the foul Enemy spy's machinations in Rohan.

Faramir reached a hand out, to gently squeeze Eowyn's. "If he thought that, Eowyn, it was an unfortunate but probably unavoidable consequence of a role that you played for your Kingdom's survival, at no small cost to yourself." Faramir told her softly.

Eowyn swallowed away tears, of relief at being understood so well, as much as sorrow.

"As to your other question," Faramir continued, as if sensing that Eowyn would prefer to let her momentary upset pass without further comment, "Uncle has seen through my artfully relaxed posture to my exhaustion." Faramir's lips quirked into a slight smile, as he confessed, "Uncle Imrahil wanted to suggest that I not leave this marble column to deal with issues that he can handle, as the column - and your conversation- are most of what is keeping me vertical. He would prefer to send me off to seek my bed; but that I am Steward now, and we are both sure that there will be matters that only I or the King can attend to, this night. And I am not in such poor shape that it cannot be me."

Eowyn smiled mistily back, making a mental note to be as much of a help to Faramir as she could, as long as Eomer could spare her from his side. "I like your family," she told Faramir aloud.

"They like you, too." Faramir assured her, his gray eyes alight with love for her, and his own pride in her.

Eowyn earned that look again, as she reached up on tip-toe to whisper to him, "Your family is wonderful, but some of these Lords and great men and women here...there are smiles on their faces, but there are daggers in their eyes."

Faramir squeezed her hand again, nodding fractionally. "There are," he agreed, "One grows accustomed to it in time. Like diving into cold water."

Faramir's eyes flickered to their new Queen, as he worried about her future happiness in Gondor, and that of her husband. Aloud, he merely commented to Eowyn that the banners overhead had been modified to include a blue-black background behind the White Tree of Gondor, rather than a black background, to honor their Queen's heritage as a daughter of Lord Elrond. Silently, Faramir hoped that Arwen the Queen would prove to be as perceptive as she was beautiful, otherwise he was afraid that King Elessar's lovely bride would be eaten alive.

"Oh, don't worry, Lord Faramir." The slightly accented voice of one of Queen Arwen's twin brothers assured him from several feet away. "My baby sister has been a lady-in-waiting to three different Queens of Arnor and Arthedain, and was a member of King Arvedui's council. She can more than take care of herself. "

Exerting the iron control over himself that he had learned as a youth in this court, Faramir managed to control all but a small amount of his surprise. He was unable to completely hide his blush; Faramir was unaccustomed to anyone but his Uncle or Amrothos being able to read passing thoughts from his eyes. Absently, he noticed Eowyn suppressing amusement, evidently at someone reading him as he had been reading her since first they met. "Ah...Lord...Elladan," Faramir murmured in quiet apology, guessing which twin had addressed him by the slight unraveling of a thread from the embroidery on his tunic sleeve, which Faramir had noticed during the Queen's introduction of her brothers earlier in the evening, "My apologies. I did not mean to imply otherwise." Mentally chastising himself for such an inane response, Faramir was awkwardly aware of the shyness brought on by his awe of their new legendary part-elven Queen and her famous family. All of his life he had dreamed of meeting of elves, and now there were approximately fifty here tonight, yet he hadn't been able to exchange more than meaningless pleasantries with them. And here Lord Elladan had come up to talk to him and Eowyn, and he was as star-struck as...as maidens had used to be around his brother. That made him think of Boromir, until he yanked his mind away from such painful thoughts.

Lord Elladan, meanwhile, was smiling at Faramir with indulgent fondness, almost as if...as if Faramir were a favored nephew of his, when to the best of Faramir's recollection, they had only met twice before, and exchanged only perhaps a half-dozen words.

"No need to apologize, Lord Faramir." Elladan assured him, thinking how much this grandson of his old friend Adrahil resembled the Sea Fox, save sweeter in temperament. It made Elladan want to take Faramir under his wing, as he'd already decided to do with Lady Eowyn, given her slaying of the Witch-King who had been Belemir's death, and her new-found interest in healing. To give Adrahil's grandson time to catch his breath and regain his equilibrium, Elladan drew Lady Eowyn into conversation, speaking of the herbs and plants that she should gather on her return to Rohan, and bring back with her to the House of Healing in Minas Tirith, after her marriage to Faramir.

That topic thoroughly enthralled Eowyn, and Elladan, for long enough that Faramir's expression turned to fond indulgence of his own for his betrothed's new interest. It was also long enough for Eomer to lose Lothiriel to mediating an argument between two young widows and an unmarried Rider of Rohan. Adrift, Eomer sought out his sister, and collected her to aid him with with recalling the names of the vast number of Stanlending nobility and important personages present.

Again made aware of Eomer's dislike of him by the Rohirric King's sideways glance as he and Eowyn walked away, Faramir suppressed a sigh, while directing a bland, socially acceptable question about healing practices in Arnor to Lord Elladan. Faramir wished that Eomer hadn't developed what seemed to be an active loathing of him; however Faramir supposed that he didn't really blame the other man. He'd hate losing a sister as well, he thought. Particularly to a man whom he did not know, who had not fought beside him on the Battle of the Pelennor, nor marched to the Black Gate. And particularly if his sister's future husband were of a different people, and meant that they would be separated by long miles. Faramir counted himself luckier than the King, though. At least his bride would only lose a country by her marriage, and not her immortal life.

Ignoring Faramir's question about healing practices, Lord Elladan's expression momentarily saddened. With horror, Faramir realized that the half-elven Lord had again read his thoughts, but Elladan quickly rallied, giving Faramir an almost conspiratorial grin as he related, "Not to worry, Lord Faramir- that is cumbersome, constantly using titles. I knew some of your ancestors, who were Queen Firiel's ladies. I'll just call you Faamir, if you don't mind."

At Faramir's bewildered nod, Elladan continued, "Good. You may call me Elladan, or 'Dan, as do my sibs. So, in any case, please do not fret. We had prior warning, about Arwen. You see," and then Elladan proceeded to tell Faramir a story.

Imladris, in Third Age Year 259

Elrond leaned forward in his chair, smiling at the chess-board as he countered a rather clever, subtle scheme of his gwador's. "Erestor, you don't think like a military elf, but sometimes that just makes your chess strategies more difficult to predict," the Lord of Imladris commented, with an admiring if slightly smug glance at Erestor.

"Hmm." Erestor commented, grinning without rancor as Elrond caught on early to the move he'd spent a half hour setting up, and captured Erestor's knight. "We diplomats know subtleties that soldiers fear, iaur gwador nin." Erestor warned teasingly.

"I heard that." Glorfindel called from across the cheerfully appointed long gallery, where the family of Lord Elrond had gathered this bright Yule eve. Glorfindel was in his element, supervising a mock battle between Elladan and Melpomaen on the one side and Elrohir and Belemir on the other, waged on the fascinating surface of Elrohir's new sandtable, with Belemir's legions of toy soldiers. Elrohir should have been handicapped by Belemir, but his younger brother, only twenty five years of age (comparable to an almost eleven year old, in human terms), was proving a canny strategist, and Elrohir was proving rather adept at taking Belemir's good suggestions into account while tactfully dismissing the bad ones. Glorfindel beamed with pride and pleasure as he advised, praised, and criticized the four young ellyn, just about equally.

*It is so nice that Glorfindel now has other students to bother...er, nurture.* Elrond remarked silently to Erestor.

Erestor raised his wine glass in a salute, smiling back in agreement but not bothering to actually formulate a reply. Elrond smiled back. He found it pleasant to see his best friend this relaxed. It was unfortunately a rare state, for his diligent chief advisor.

To Elrond's left, his wife laughed lightly. "I warned you that you were being too clever, Erestor." Celebrian sat at her husband's side, resting lightly against Elrond as she worked bright jewel-tone threads into the collar of an oliphaunt, already stitched into a future wall-hanging which was primarily a pleasant dove gray shade. Elrond decided it must be a late Yule present for Elladan. The younger twin had always liked oliphaunts, and the tapestry would look well in the twins' rooms, which had recently been redecorated yet again.

"You did indeed, Bri." Erestor grinned at his friend from their mutual elfling days in Eregion, long ago, "And I should know better than to disregard your advice, particularly when it comes to Elrond."

Lady Niniel, who was knitting in a rocking chair beside her lady, snorted.

Elrond's smile turned wry. Niniel was Celebrian's former nursemaid, as well as his wife's current handmaiden and the Castellan of Imladris (though she preferred the term "Aranelsere," or "Princess-friend," a compromise between the term "Arandil," which meant "King's Friend," that she had wanted (which Elrond had refused her, on the grounds that it would be confusing, given that it was the epesse of Erestor's father, and also on the grounds that he was NOT a King), and the former title of Castellan which Erestor's late wife Taminixe and then Elrond's friend, the soldier Rhiwalagos, had borne). Rhiwalagos had fallen during the Battle of the Last Alliance, and Imladris had not had a Castellan who lasted longer than a few years, since. Niniel was completely devoted to Celebrian and their children, and a very competent administrator, whatever she chose to call herself. However, Niniel only barely tolerated Elrond, on a good day. Oh, she was polite. Niniel's manners were impeccable. She had served in the court of King Finwe in Aman, after all, where she had been the Princess Earwen's handmaiden and the Lady Galadriel's (then called Artanis)' nursemaid and then handmaiden. But Niniel made it very obvious to Elrond that Celebrian's having married him was the greatest disappointment in Niniel's life, greater even than the one she had suffered when her beloved Artanis married Celeborn (and Elrond had been hearing about that one, on and off, for millenia). Niniel had made it very clear that she would have been much happier had Celebrian married any full-blood Noldorin elf on Middle Earth, or even any full-blood Sindarin or Silvan elf. Elrond was part-human, and therefore unacceptable to her. Even more unacceptable than a Sindarin elf like his uncle Lord Celeborn.

That should bother Elrond, and it did, some days. But Elrond and his twin brother Elros had known Niniel since they first came to live with Lord Cirdan, when they were only eight years old. Niniel had been ancient already, and with some ancient elves, Elrond knew, one simply couldn't change their minds on certain things. Lord Celeborn had explained that to him, in reference to Niniel, actually, when Elrond himself had been an adolescent. Lord Elrond of Imladris would not have been able to overlook Niniel making other elves and humans at Imaldris feel uncomfortable or unwelcome (well, unless they had done something such that it was appropriate).

But, Niniel seemed well enough able to deal respectfully with the entire strange cast of elves at Imladris, excepting sometimes Elrond, and only when there was none but family about. And Elrond, well, he thought to himself that Niniel had always been loyal to his aunt Galadriel, of whom he was very fond, and to his cousin and wife Celebrian, who he loved more than life itself. And that Elrond knew from experience that Niniel was usually kind to children, even half-human ones who didn't speak. Given that perspective, Elrond more or less accepted the presence of Niniel in his family with amused tolerance, glad he had thought to find Niniel a job that freed Celebrian up to spend more time with their children and indulging her own interests, and simultaneously kept Niniel too busy to actively disapprove of him and his quarter-human children on a regular basis.

And most of Niniel's attention at this point was on Arwen and Andreth. Andreth, whom Niniel always called, "Anaranel," or "Sun Princess," was Niniel's not-so-secret favorite amongst Elrond and Celebrian's children. Andreth was the most lady-like, certainly, although she was not without spirit. None of their children were.

Right now, Elrond's daughters were playing wedding, with dolls that their mother had passed down to them. The dolls were exquisite gowns, some of which Andreth had made herself, as Yule gifts for her little sister. Andreth was an artist with the needle, given practically any medium. Although at this point, Arwen's favorite of her sister's talents was Andreth's ability to turn scraps of fabric and jewelry into intricate miniature dresses for Arwen's princess dolls.

Elrond gave Andreth a fond, proud smile, as he waited for Erestor to make his next move. Normally, Andreth and Arwen didn't play together. Andreth was, after all, some decades older than Arwen, and had mostly grown out of playing dolls by the time she was presented with a sister. Andreth's best friends, Eilunwen Drystaniel and Tauriel Maeladiel, were both several decades Andreth's elder, and she had taken an interest in the same things that interested them since her teenage years. Today, however, both of the other "Roses of Imladris," as the three had been named in song, were with their own families. And Andreth was entertaining Arwen, although both seemed to be having a good time. "Wedding," was a game that Elrond had never played as a young peredhel, perhaps because all of his friends had been male. But it seemed to hold a fascination for both of his daughters.

Frowning, Erestor finally made his move, putting a castle directly in the path of one of Elrond's archers. Elrond hid a grin, his attention still half on his daughters as Arwen finished brushing the hair of the bride.

Setting the dark-haired, blue-robed elleth into place beside the groom, almost equally resplendent in a silver-and-blue tunic, Arwen determinedly announced, "I'm going to marry a human."

Choking, Elrond fumbled his move, dropping the archer right in front of Erestor's castle.

Niniel shook her head, muttering, "You would say that, titta quen, contrary little Aranel that you are."

Giving his gwador a sympathetic, amused look, Erestor silently asked, *Would you like to amend your move?*

Elrond, having more important things than chess on his mind, thanks to that disturbing statement by his youngest daughter, demurred.

Belemir made a face at his younger sister and playmate, commenting, "Ellith and human women are all equally gross." At Melpomaen's whispered prompt, Belemir belatedly amended, "Present company excepted, of course," before finishing determinedly, "I'm never going to get married."

Elrohir and Elldan exchanged looks of amusement with Melpomaen, then Elrohir tolerantly asked, "Muindor-laes is 25, what do you expect?"

With a chuckle, Glorfindel commented, "Ah, we'll see what you say in thirty years, Belemir guren."

Elrond, meanwhile, was feeling sympathetic for Niniel's perspective on the human question for one of the first times in his life. Well, really, sympathetic to any parent, facing the idea of daughters marrying and leaving him. Andreth was bad enough, the way that she and Eilunwen and Tauriel had become the focus of various minstrels' songs of beauty, particularly the appallingly catchy "Three Roses of Imladris," by Gelmir Golden-Voice. Elrond did not want to even consider his baby making Luthien's choice, and losing her to a short-lived human life.

Belemir looked at Glorfindel and his older brothers as if they might well be insane, thinking that he would ever change his mind about ellith and human women being gross. But because he was fond of Arwen, he grudgingly amended, "Well, if Arwen marries a human, I'll still go visit her."

It was Glorfindel, oddly, who came to the rescue of Elrond's sanity and peace-of-mind. "You're all far too young to marry, even Melpomaen." The balrog slayer remarked. "What do you want to do with your lives, other than marry?"

Elrohir answered quickly, "I just want to be a soldier, and a good knight of Arnor. Maybe earn the status of a knight of Gondor, too, someday."

"I want to be a soldier, and a great healer." Elladan added.

"I want to help people." Belemir answered, determination in his young voice.

Andreth gave her next-youngest sibling a smile, "Helping people is good, Bele. Though I like making beautiful things, too."

"I think that I will have my hands full being there to help my trouble-causing friends." Melpomaen answered solemnly, with a fond glance at the twins. That answer was more cheeky than Melpomaen's usual wont, which made Elrond wonder what on Arda the twins had been up to of late that might motivate Erestor's quiet son to tease them so. Immediately, Elrond dismissed the thought, because if he hadn't heard of whatever-it-was already, he didn't want to know. Such an attitude was vital in parenting his oldest children, even now that they were of age.

Arwen hummed an old, old Numenorean ballad, then answered, "I want to soldier and heal and help people, and learn how to make beautiful things, if I have time. But when I'm all grown up I'm going to marry a human King who is a soldier and a healer, and we're going to help people together."

Niniel muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Of course you are, you contrary elfling."

Elrond watched as Arwen then got up to dance, humming the strains of a Numenorean dance tune called the sarsanelle to herself. Arwen's bare feet flew in perfect tempo, and she never missed a step, despite the fact that her partner was imaginary, until Belemir took advantage of a pause in the war-game caused by lecture from Glorfindel to Elladan on the weaknesses of fancy strategies, and came to dance with his sister.

The sarsanelle was a Numenorean dance, one which had been popular in Gondor and Arnor during the days of King Elendil. That Arwen would pick a human tune that she might have once or twice in her entire life to dance, after announcing that she would wed a human...was worrying, to Elrond, whose children could make Luthien's choice, and may have inherited the gift of prophecy. "Iel-nin," He called to Arwen, "If you do marry a human, make sure he is worthy."

Andreth gave her father the type of look that young adult daughter give their fathers, when, in their young female wisdom, they feel strongly that those fathers are behaving like old, paranoid fools. "You worry too much, Ada. Arwen is an excellent judge of character." Andreth told her father, in the tone of voice that Celebrian used to soothe nervous horses. Celebrian herself was quiet, which worried Elrond.

Elrond sighed, and wondered exactly when it had been, that he had become one of those overprotective fathers that Celebrian and Taminixe had used to complain of, "Just you wait until you have a daughter, Andreth iel-nin," Elrond told his older daughter, "You will worry over her marrying, as well."

"I want my daughter to marry Melpomaen." Andreth told her father with a sunny, reassuring smile, "Then I won't need to worry, for I'll know that she is with the kindest and best of ellyn."

The twins started laughing, and Melpomaen blushed, more than a little bit mortified. Mindful of his social responsibility to respond politely to even such an outre statement, Melopomaen gently told his gwedyr's sister, "I am honored, Andreth, but I would be much too old to be a fit husband for your daughter."

Andreth quirked her head, and paused. Then she smiled her sunny smile, and confidently replied, "Age is just a number, Mel."

Elrond, who found the thought of a granddaughter marrying Melpomaen much less terrifying than the idea of Arwen marrying a human, teased, "You would make a more than acceptable grandson-in-law, Melpomaen."

Mel mumbled something that might have been 'thank you Lord Elrond,' or alternatively, 'Eep, if its not one of the twins, its Andreth,' and then looked to his father Erestor for rescue.

Erestor smiled sympathetically, "Please come over here and help me defeat Elrond, ion-nin. I have not quite lost this chess game yet."

Melpomaen approached obediently, almondine eyes filled with relief. Although he did remind his father, "Elrohir, Elladan, Glorfindel, or even Belemir would be a better choice, Ada. If you want to win the game, that is."

Erestor put an arm around Melpomaen, bringing his adoptive son to lean against him, as he explained, "Ah, but I want to scheme against Elrond with you, for my pleasure. It makes no matter to me whether we win, or not."

Celebrian, meanwhile, was giving Andreth a similar disturbed look to the one Elrond had given Arwen. "Andreth, my love, I think perhaps we should apprentice you to Saelestiel the weaver. And be careful, what you wish for. This wish was fine...but just have a care."

Andreth nodded solemnly, "Of course, Nana."

Elrond turned to Celebrian in momentary concern and confusion.

His Bri met his gaze, contemplation more than concern now in her eyes, *Andreth may be our easiest child, but she is as hard to turn as the ocean, when she is set on a course. Mother...it has been speculated that Mother does more than just see the future. That she can sometimes MAKE things happen, by wishing them. I think it is time to set Andreth to working with Saelestiel, who channels that skill usefully, and then perhaps with Mother...who is more or less unaware that she can do that, if, in fact, she can.* Celebrian shrugged, *It may be coincidence, or luck...but enough of Mother's students remarked on it, over the years...better to be over-cautious than taken by surprise, if Andreth has inherited that.*

Elrond, who had just been served with two terrifying revelations about his daughters in a row, still managed to lose with good grace at chess to the combined forces of Erestor and Melpomaen. Though part of Elrond suspected that Glorfindel might have been giving Erestor hints.

T.A. 3019, early spring, the Great Hall of Feasts in the Citadel of Minas Tirith, night of the wedding of Elessar Telcontar to Arwen Undomiel

Faramir, both fascinated and honored to have such a private family story be shared with him, replied softly, "Oh my. Your father in that story reminds me of tales of my grandfather Adrahil, dealing with my mother Finduilas, who had prophetic visions even as a young child."

Elladan had known Adrahil quite well, and had once spent a memorable few weeks traveling with a six year old Finduilas. However, the fact that he'd known them, and the fact that he deeply regretted that he had not been able to serve as Finduilas' healer with her pregnancies, both had to remains secrets for some time yet. So instead of agreeing with Faramir, Elladan answered, "Ah, yes. Your grandfather and I had quite a correspondence, over various trade matters."

Blushing again, this time on his grandfather's behalf, Faramir apologized, "Ah, I am sorry for that, Lord Elladan. Daerada Adrahil loved a good haggle."

Elladan huffed a laugh and then smiled kindly, "Do not worry, young Faramir. And please do feel free to call me Elladan. For in fact, I found your grandfather's fascinating correspondence a highlight of my months. And, in any case, I would not blame you for your grandfather's actions." Elladan's handsome face became more serious, as he added, "Or your father's. Do not you blame yourself, either."

Faramir's face stilled. He was polite and attentive but somehow...distant. Not like Adrahil, or at least not like Adrahil in any mood Elldan could remember. Adrahil, angry or happy, had always been an open book, when he wasn't off a-spying. Elladan wondered if this was Denthor's influence on Faramir's upbringing, this reserve. It wasn't the influence of heritage from Denethor, because Elladan was enough a student of inerhitance in humans to realize that Faramir could not possibly be Boromir's full brother. And they had evidently both been of Adrahil's, so....Elladan wondered what would have enticed the honorable if odd little girl he'd once known, Adrahil's daughter, to lay with a man who was not her husband. Then Elladan mentally shrugged, deciding that if he'd been a human woman, and if his husband had been the type to burn a child alive to "save" the child, Elladan might have slept around, too.

Turning his attention back to Faramir, Elladan inquired as to the young Steward's health.

"I am recovering well, Lord Elladan, thank you for your kind interest." Faramir replied pleasantly. "I saw Healer Del today, and he was quite positive." Which was all true. Faramir could tell that he was recovering well enough, and he had seen Warden Del, the chief of the healers at the House of Healing. Warden Del and Faramir had enjoyed a polite conversation about requisitions of healing herbs. Both were positive that they would be able to obtain the supplies required by the House of Healing. Faramir didn't wish to be poked and prodded by healers again, even though the King's foster brothers had both been quite gentle when they had seen to him. But Faramir also felt they must have better things to do at their sister's wedding then to worry over a human who'd gotten wounded even before the Black Gate.

"That is good to hear, Faramir." Elladan replied, "However, the wound you took, in conjunction with the length of your exposure to the black breath...we have few precedents of men healing from such. Some caution is certainly warranted, and I think it would be best if you continue seeing a healer, at least once a week. Warden Del seems competent. I know that he took good care of Estel, when Estel was here."

Faramir's eyes sharpened with interest at Warden Del's having known the King before, as the King had asked those who had known him in his prior journey to Gondor not to speak of it, since he was a King now and not a hire-sword, and was beginning anew. Faramir wasn't sure which questions it would be acceptable to ask. He wanted to learn more about his new King, but he didn't want to offend King Elessar by asking questions about a time that the King had stated did not matter.

Elladan's gaze turned again to Arwen, as the Queen laughed at something her new husband had said, while dancing in his arms.

"I am sorry for what you and your family are giving up, Lord Elladan." Faramir said with quiet but heartfelt sympathy, "but Gondor is very grateful for our lovely and capable new Queen."

"You have your grandfather's way with words," Elladan told Faramir, his eyes suspiciously misty, as he proposed, "A toast for the Queen."

Faramir accepted a glass of wine from a roving page, and then lifted it to meet the Queen's brother's, "A toast for the Queen. May she knew great happiness here." In his thoughts, Faramir added, 'May she be truly the Queen of a Minas Tirith that, Valar willing, will become under her reign and her husband's full of light, high and fair, beautiful as a Queen among Queens, rather than a mistress of many slaves.'

Elladan, seeing some of that hope in Faramir's eyes, and remembering what he'd overheard Frodo telling Aragorn of Faramir, made a promise to himself to do whatever he needed to do, to get this grandson of Adrahil's to trust him, and to let Elladan and the elves of Imladris help Estel and Arwen and their Steward to bring about the bright, shining, prosperous, equable, hopeful future that Faramir saw. For Adrahil's sake, and for Finduilas', and Estel's, for Estel's love for his fallen companion Boromir. And most of all for Arwen's, and Belemir's. For Estel was Belemir's many-times great-nephew, just as assuredly as he was Elrond's.

"May all of Men know happiness," Elladan raised his glass in another toast. Faramir, eyes widening as he again mentally scolded himself for not hiding his thoughts better around Lord Elladan, toasted that sentiment, and then had a vacant moment, that had Elladan pursing his lips and then shaking Faramir's shoulder gently, in concern.

Faramir himself felt...momentary dislocated from time and place. He was in this room, this same Great Hall of Feasts, only it was lighter, brighter. Just as crowded, but there were many more young men, and many fewer wounded. There were more women, and there elves. A few dwarves, as well, and not just Gimli son of Gloin. All of the war damage had been fixed, and there were gardens and fountains where there had only been stone courtyards before.

Faramir glanced around in the vision, and before him on a balcony was a silver-blond elf, a female one, remarking to the golden-blond elf whom Queen Arwen had introduced as Lord Glorfindel, the Balrog-Slayer of legend, "I'm planning to marry him. I thought I should let you know."

At first, the great elven hero seemed only taken aback, too surprised to even reply. At last, when he did, it was with an approving nod. "I think that you will be good for eachother."

The elleth nodded sagely, "Of course."

Then the vision faded, and Faramir was again in the Hall of Feasts, with the war damage still visible from the windows. And Lord Elladan, gently shaking his shoulder, with an expression of intrigued concern.

"My pardon, Lord Elladan," Faramir murmured apologetically, "I think I am more tired than I had realized."

"Understandable," Elladan said graciously, wondering if Finduilas' son had visions waking as well as sleeping, and if he did, why he resembled so much Estel's grandmother Ivorwen, when lost in a vision.

"I think I had best head off the Lord of the Serni Vale," Faramir told Elladan regretfully, "He has pressing issues regarding recruitment, in order to defend his fiefdom properly during the rest of the summer raiding season. But I don't think that it is anything that cannot wait until tomorrow, for the King's attention."

"Ah, yes. I shall help you, then. I am most curious about his fiefdom." And regretful, of Lord Morcocano's grandfather, whom Elladan's and Mithrandir's antidotes had once been too late to save.

Faramir and Elladan spent much of that night in one another's company, often with the Lady Eowyn, as they tried to give Aragorn at least one night to be a bridegroom rather than a King. All three were unaware that it was a dance they would perform again and again, in different variations and for different members of what would become the same extended family, so that everyone could be afforded some time to be just themselves, despite the position of importance they occupied in the newly restored Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor.


	11. Good Money-Laundering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elladan insists that there is such a thing as "good" money-laundering. Melpomaen isn't so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kaylee for listening to me talk through this idea.
> 
> A/N: This chapter is set when Estel is about 10 years old, so probably after the eighth of Elladan and Melpomaen's nine missions for Gandalf (some of which are detailed in "The Firebearer's Dogs," http://archiveofourown.org/works/216693/chapters/325862. This chapter is set some time after "A Detour and Some Melons," in "The Firebearer's Dogs," and references one of the young human children whom Elladan, Theli and Adrahil rescued from slavery in that story.

Melpomaen crunched numbers, looking from one page of year-end financials for vineyards and breweries, to another. And occasionally casting disgusted, perturbed looks at his young Lord and sworn brother.

Elladan was using a cord from the curtains to entertain Melpomaen's father Erestor's little black cat, Gailchend. And loftily ignoring his gwador.

Melpomaen sighed, and decided that he had to say something. "Elladan," He began, "Knowing the position that your father has taken on embezzlement, I cannot think that Lord Elrond will approve of money-laundering."

Elladan gave Melpomaen a patient look, then crumbled a piece of parchment and tossed it into the hall for Gailchend to chase. The half-grown black cat dashed happily after the parchment ball, and anyone coming down the hall would have to trip over her, and give the two young elves warning of their presence.

"Mel," Elladan soothed, "Stop being a silly goose."

Melpomaen gave Elladan the same type of look he gave Estel, when the boy tried to claim that his hound Huan had eaten his homework. "Stop stealing Estel's vocabulary," Melpomaen chided, "and talk to me about this, or I won't help you with it."

"Mel!" Elladan protested, tossing the parchment ball again for Gailchend, "It's money-laundering, but it's good money laundering! To help the anti-slavery league that little Bahadur's parents have started. Donating money openly, or in any manner that could be traced, might put Imladris and Greenwood at odds with Harad. And no one needs that."

Melpomaen sighed again. He couldn't find anything in that to disagree with, except, "Elladan, I'm not sure that there's any such thing as "good" money-laundering. And I still don't think that Lord Elrond, or my Adar, would like it."

Elladan tossed the parchment ball again, and smiled charmingly at his gwador, "Now, Mel, you know that Ada was only upset about the embezzlement because I was embezzling from him. And I wouldn't have had to, if he'd just approved the funds for the scientific research like I wanted him to in the first place...." Elladan frowned, distracted.

"It did take you over a thousand years to come up with a way to make fire burn better on water, yet still be quickly extinguishable by the application of chemicals, in fairness to your father." Melpomaen pointed out.

Elladan frowned thoughtfully, "Yes, yes I suppose it did. And I'm still not really happy with the results...we still killed over half the fish in that portion of the river."

"I think, at that point, 'Dan, everyone was more concerned with the orcs." Melpomaen pointed out gently. Elladan was surprisingly soft-hearted, and might well be up nights worrying about damage to the fish population in the Bruinen, despite the fire on the river having been a key defensive ploy during the second siege of Imladris. So, to distract his gwador, Melpomaen offered, "And I must admit, the fact that scientific research is such a chancy endeavor, does make it easier to set up new companies for that purpose to funnel our and Theli's money through, without anyone ever being suspicious if they don't turn a profit within the next few centuries."

Elladan made a face at the mention of Theli. "I can't believe that he thought of this first." Elladan complained of his one-time rival. Elladan had put aside his antagonism towards Theli in the course of their missions for the Wizard MIthrandir, but there was still an element of competition between them.

"To be fair," Melpomaen pointed out with a glimmer of a smile in his eyes, "Theli only thought of sending Bahadur's family money to help with their little project. You were the one who thought of doing so in a more, er, covert, manner." And the financial resources that were available to a son of the Lord of Imladris, and to the son of Lord Elrond's Chief Advisor, were just greater than those of a junior royal healer.

"Idiot." Elladan complained of Theli, rolling his eyes fondly. "He's lucky if cousin Thranduil doesn't figure what he's been up to, from that."

"Aran Thranduil probably doesn't pay attention to the financial outlays of a junior member of his staff, 'Dan. Even if he's friends with Theli, I'm sure he has bigger things to worry about." Melpomaen pointed out reasonably, continuing, "And we can see to it that from now on, Theli's money goes through our new research companies, here, and then from there into your vineyards in Dol Amroth and Lindon and breweries in Gondor, and then from there back to the research companies, and then finally to the anti-slavery league."

Elladan's eyes had glassed over, though he kept throwing the ball for Gailchend.

Melpomaen sighed again, "Elladan, gwador-laes, if you don't at least pay attention to HOW I am laundering your money, I'll make you do it yourself."

Elladan straightened, and mock-whined, "But, Mel, you know I'm lousy with numbers."

Melpomaen had to chuckle at that, though he swatted at Elladan irritably with a rolled-up scroll, "As if I don't get enough of that from Estel."

As if summoned by the sound of his name, Melpomaen and Elladan heard the voice of Lord Elrond's young human fosterling coming down the hall, greeting Gailchend cheerfully, before asking a question of Elladan's nine-minutes older twin brother, Elrohir.

Elrohir and Estel came into view just as Melpomaen had rearranged the parchments showing his calculations such that they did not reveal anything about the anti-slavery league. Although Elrohir and Estel were unlikely to look closer in any case.

Elrohir smiled, an arm slung around Estel's shoulders. Both wore casual clothing, and sweat and dirt stains advertised that they had come from the practice yards.

"Estel is the best I've seen at taking a fall from a moving horse, out of anyone his age!" Elrohir boasted proudly of his pupil.

Elladan, too, grinned proudly, "Well-done, muindor-laes! Although the point is, of course, generally to stay on the horse, knowing how to fall is very important. And my twin does not give praise where it is undue. You must be coming along very well, indeed."

Estel smiled, and enthused, "'Roh and Glor say so, and next week I get to start jumping!"

"Probably next week," Elrohir corrected gently, "And you had a question for me that I couldn't recall the answer to. Melpomaen, which Gailchend is this? The 300th, or the 301st?"

Melpomaen blinked, "Ah, I believe the 303rd." Melpomaen didn't explain further, but they'd lost one of Erestor's black cats, all named Gailchend after the first kitten that Melpomaen had given him, almost two thousand years ago, during the siege, and another to an illness caught from one of Elrond's human patients.

Elladan smiled sadly, which made Melpomaen realize the younger twin must know the reason for the slightly higher count.

Estel took up the curtain cord, and dangled it enticingly for Gailchend, "And Ada doesn't realize that it's a different kitty each time?" Estel asked, bewildered, "Is that why he doesn't object to it being in the house?"

Elrohir and Elladan laughed, and Melpomaen smiled, "Well, of course he realizes, Estel." Melpomaen said kindly, "But the first Gailchend was a Yule present from me to my Adar, the first gift that I ever gave Erestor. And since all of the other kittens have looked much like her, Lord Elrond,"

"Uncle Elrond," All three of Elrond's sons chorused in correction.

Melpomaen held up his hands, and corrected himself, "Uncle Elrond seems to have decided to pretend that he believes that they are all the same cat."

"Besides, muindor-laes," Elladan pointed out, "You have Ada so tied about your finger that Huan gets to sleep in your bed, and spend time in our quarters."

Estel frowned, "Yes, but he's not allowed in the Great Hall during meals. And he really wants to come."

The elves chuckled.

"I'm sure he does," Elrohir said tactfully, but with a glimmer of a smile in his eyes, "And I'm interested to see if you can convince Ada to cave on that point, as well."

"Convince me to cave on what point, ion-nin?" Lord Elrond asked, coming into Melpomaen's office with a slightly worried look on his face, and accompanied by Lord Erestor.

"Ah..." Elrohir extemporized, not wanting to queer Estel's pitch on Huan's behalf.

"Elrohir and Captain Glorfindel think that Estel is ready to start jumping on a horse." Elladan supplied smoothly, "And Elrohir recalls that you had wanted to wait on that, until Estel was older."

Estel gave Elladan a dark look, as Lord Elrond sighed, and embraced his youngest. "Well, I will discuss the matter with Elrohir and Glorfindel, and perhaps we can work something out." Lord Elrond said, "But it will not be this week. Your efforts in respect of your lessons could once again bear to show improvement, ion-laes." He chided Estel gently.

Estel frowned, "But, Ada, I'm going to be a ranger! I don't have to know what fiefdoms of Gondor were founded when, or what their economy is based on! We live in Eriador, not Gondor, anyway!" Estel complained.

"Maybe a deal could be worked out, in respect of additional effort in history lessons in exchange for jumping lessons..." Elladan murmured, earning himself a dark look from everyone but Elrohir and Melpomaen, who'd been expecting him to say something along those lines.

"Perhaps, we will have to discuss it." Lord Elrond said at last, now with a twinkle in his eyes as he watched Erestor collect Gailchend, setting the little cat on his shoulders, where she affectionately rubbed at Erestor's midnight dark braids. "Gwador," the Lord of Imladris said in an amused tone of voice, "Gailchend has been particularly affectionate, of late. Say, the past six months or so."

Erestor hid a smile at the long-running joke, "You don't say, Elrond." He replied primly.

"Aye," Elrond continued, smiling now, "A most pleasant change from her rather stand-offish behavior of the last dozen years or so." Turning to his sons, Elrond directed fondly, "Elrohir, you and Estel get cleaned up for dinner. Elladan, I might be willing to authorize a further investment in your new research endeavors, but I'll need a more detailed explanation of your plans."

Elladan nodded, but Melpomaen's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe that Elladan was luring his father into helping fund their support of the anti-slavery league, all unknowing. Well, Melpomaen could believe that of Elladan, but still, it was....well, it was very Elladan.

"Ion-nin?" Erestor inquired, a look of loving concern on his face, "Is something amiss?"

"Oh," Melpomaen fumbled, as Elladan looked completely innocent and only mildly concerned as to his gwador's strange behavior, "I've been helping Elladan run the numbers for those research endeavors, and we could better afford...certain ingredients, with some extra capital."

"Put a detailed pitch together," Lord Elrond said with a fond sigh, "And I will review it. I feel better just knowing that Melpomaen is also involved."

When the two were alone again, Melpomaen gave Elladan a disgusted look. "You," He told the younger twin, "Are impossible."

Elladan merely shrugged, a sweet smile on his face, "I'm sure Ada would want to help slaves to escape to freedom, if he knew. And maybe we can employ some freed slaves in the research companies, make them more than just a paper trail. It'll be fun."

Melpomaen groaned, although a part of him had to agree. Elladan's idea of fun was a bit too exciting for Melpomaen, but time spent with the younger twin was never boring. If only they could let Elrohir in on this, then Melpomaen would at least have a control valve on Elladan's wilder impulses. Although Elrohir's response to slavery might be more direct, and even more likely to start a war with Harad, one that Gondor and its allies were not ready for.


	12. Colorful Adjectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Melpomaen has to write lines for the Balrog-Slayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kaylee for helping with the inspiration for this snippet.
> 
> A/N: Set before T.A. 200, when Melpomaen was a young elf in Imladris.

Melpomaen blinked in confusion, "You want me....to write one thousand times, wh...what exactly, Lord Glorfindel?" He squeaked. The young dark-haired elf stood in front of the Captain's desk, his hindquarters still somewhat sore from discussions with Lord Elrond and Armsmaster Drystan, who had not been best pleased with Melpomaen's taking a slight wound during a camping trip, and allowing it to  
get infected rather than getting treatment. As Melpomaen had explained, he'd taken the small cut through his own clumsiness, and his birth-father Edrahil had always forbidden Melpomaen medical care or coddling under such circumstances. Melpomaen should have realized that the rules here at Imladris would be different, but with his adoptive father Erestor away on a diplomatic mission, he hadn't thought to tell anyone of the problem.

"You heard me, elfling." Glorfindel said firmly, before offering in a slightly warmer tone, "You can write your lines lying on your stomach on the settee with the lap desk, if sitting is uncomfortable for you. There is quill and parchment in my desk."

Melpomaen knew that there was, his father Erestor's frequent complaint being that Glorfindel never ran out of writing materials, because he used them so rarely. What Melpomaen didn't know was how even to spell "pestilential whore-son," let alone the other colorful adjectives that Lord Glorfindel wanted him to use to describe his birth father Edrahil's treatment of Melpomaen, in the context of the sentence that Glorfindel wanted him to write saying that Melpomaen was too clever a young elf to listen to "nonsense" spewed by an elf (Edrahil) acting in such a foolish fashion. Although Lord Glorfindel's terms for Edrahil were not ones that could be used in polite company.

So Melpomaen hesitated, worried about incurring the formidable Captain's further displeasure, before asking, "Ah, Lord Glorfindel...how do you, um, spell..."

Glorfindel's lips quirked into a slight smile, "Ah. Is that your trouble? I'll write the sentence out once for you first, then, youngling." And Glorfindel began to do so, he told Melpomaen in a friendly tone, "It's been ages since I've given an assignment such as this, and the young elf in question," who had, incidentally, been Melpomaen's many-times great-grandfather Helyandur, Glorfindel's youngest brother-by-law, "had spent enough time around me and my otornyar to know how to pronounce and spell all of the words in question."

Glorfindel finished, and handed the parchment to Melpomaen, along with a pile of blank papers and a quill. He then helped Melpomaen get settled comfortably on the green-and-gold settee, and gave him a drink of cordial. And Glorfindel was perfectly willing to answer Melpomaen's questions about spelling, when Melpomaen couldn't read the Balrog-Slayer's chicken-scratch handwriting. It wasn't until Melpomaen had relaxed and made good progress on his lines that Glorfindel caught his attention.

"And, if anything like this ever happens again- and I mean ever again, Melpomaen Erestorion, even if you are four thousand years old - I will most certainly spank you myself. No matter that Elrond and Drystan have seen to you first." Glorfindel's ice-blue gaze was intense as he made that promise, and Melpomaen swallowed nervously, and nodded.

Lord Glorfindel's face relaxed into a friendly, even indulgent, expression once again, "Good. Now that we understand eachother, I think it's time for a break. Mistress Siana is making berry pies, and I'm told that you like those." Glorfindel helped Melpomaen up from the settee, and promised, "If you manage to keep from sharing certain of those ah, colorful adjectives, with your gwedyr the twins, I'll make sure that you get a second helping of berry pie this afternoon."

"Deal." Melpomaen promised, as he smiled shyly, and thought that the twins and his father were right, Lord Glorfindel wasn't always so scary.


	13. Happy Narbeleth, Hir Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening of the first Harvest Festival that Elrond and Celebrian spend more or less together, after their marriage. Or, How the Hippopotamus Wrecked Lord Elrond's Study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: T.A. Year 10 (less than a year after Elrond and Celebrian's marriage)

Lord Elrond of Imladris dipped his quill into his white-gold, ship-shaped ink well, frowning thoughtfully as he continued crafting a letter to his former fosterling.

"What is more, Valandil," the peredhel wrote in his slanting script, the letters less well-formed and graceful than his normal wont. He was tired, and worried about some of his foster-son's new companions, "you have to be careful of those who only wish your friendship because you are the King of Arnor. If they truly care about you, than they will understand when you tell them..." Elrond's pen scraped across the length of the page, as the entire contents of his desk were swept onto the floor by a branch covered in orange-red leaves.

Before Elrond could blink, the parchments and scrolls and inkwell were replaced by his coyly smiling wife. Silver-tressed Celebrian was scantily clad, in nothing but a flimsy shift of rose-colored silk, and a very tightly laced bodice in a deep shade of ruby.

"Happy Narbeleth, Hir Elrond," Celebrian purred, as her husband gaped at her, open-mouthed.

Elrond stared for a few more seconds, while his bride of less than a year preened, evidently quite proud of herself. The fact that she looked incredibly alluring would not save her from a lecture, Elrond firmly resolved. Nor would her beauty, her moist pink lips, her incredibly lovely green eyes, her rosy cheeks...very rosy, actually...

"Celebrian, are you drunk?" Elrond asked his bride suspiciously, finally recovering from his shock. The healer in him took precedence over the husband, and over his worry for the wreck of his correspondence and various winter plans and favorite ink well, now seeping ink on the floor.

"Not as drunk as I should be, having had to host almost the entire Narbeleth dance myself, after my loving husband of LESS THAN A YEAR disappeared to hermit in your study." Celebrian replied in a sexy drawl. Then she unlaced the top of her bodice so that her round breasts half-spilled out the top of the rich ruby velvet, a come-hither smirk on her pretty face.

"Alright, first of all, "hermit" is not a verb, and I object strenuously to your utilizing it as such, and secondly..." Elrond trailed off, his eyes widening almost comically, as Celebrian began to further undress, unlacing her bodice completely and sitting in front of him in just her thin silk shift. She grinned impishly at him, her lithe body bathed in the light of the moon streaming in from the windows open to the cool autumn eve.

"Meleth, the windows are OPEN. Anyone could SEE YOU." Elrond protested in a hoarse, scandalized whisper.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I had Silwen put up a sign that our baby hippopotamus is loose in the garden, and teething. No one will dare go in there." Celebrian's eyes narrowed, "And all of your guests are gone. Not that you'd know."

Having ascertained that Celebrian was not too inebriated to be responsible for her actions, Elrond's eyes narrowed, and he went into lecture mode. "I understand that you are unhappy that you were left to entertain OUR guests in my absence. But I have important letters to finish writing, including one to our poor fosterling,"

"Who has his own mother to give him parental advice." Celebrian replied seriously, giving Elrond a stern look which was slightly ruined when she crossed her arms, unintentionally drawing her husband's attention to her chest.

Elrond had to suppress a smile and a fond, amused chuckle at that.

Realizing at that point what she had just done, Celebrian put her arms down at her sides, then shook a finger at Elrond. "Stop laughing, Elrond. Do you honestly think that dowager Queen Kiiriel is incapable of realizing that her son has encountered false, power-grubbing friends, and counseling him through it?"

Throwing his hands up in the air, Elrond protested, "Well, no! But I'm like another father to Valandil, and,"

"Oh, oh, so is that it?" Celebrian interrupted, suddenly blazingly angry. "A mother isn't good enough? So good to know what you think of females, Elrond Peredhel! That they're good for nothing but hosting parties you find too unimportant to take up your precious time!" Celebrian had hopped off of her perch on Elrond's desk during her angry outburst, and was now pacing. Irritatedly, she pushed a lock of her silver-blond hair back under neath a barrette made of rubies intricately cut to resemble a rose, not even caring that her clothing was in such...distracting disarray.

"No, of course not!" Elrond returned levelly, combating his wife's fiery temper with his own calm, though there was a sharp note of reproof in his voice that he knew she would pick up on. "If you'd let me finish, my darling Bri, you would have heard me say, 'And you are like another mother!'"

"Well that is better!" Celebrian retorted, not much calmed, "But Valandil doesn't need another PARENT LECTURING HIM, Elrond! He has Kiiriel and scads of advisors, all 'ancient' to his young eyes, all telling him that he is acting the fool! He will read only the first line of that obnoxious FIRST draft you wrote tonight, and then he will most likely throw it into the nearest fire! AND I WOULDN'T BLAME HIM!"

"It wasn't a first draft," Elrond replied, stung. "You know that I always write my first drafts on scrap paper, so as not to waste parchment!" The Lord of Imladris put his strong, calloused hands on either side of his lovely wife's waist, and lifted her gently but firmly away from the patch of carpet also playing host to his unfinished letter to Valandil, which had miraculously survived Celebrian's rampage. So far.

"Oh, sweet Valar, Elrond. I love you, but sometimes you are absolutely impossible." Celebrian complained, planting her bare foot in the spilled ink with a splash, and then stepping firmly on the offending piece of parchment before Elrond could pick it up. "There. I just saved you from making a mistake. You are done working for the night. You can try again tomorrow to write something that will say, 'I understand you and respect you,' as well as, 'I love you, but I think I'm the world's foremost expert on everything, while you're still a little boy just learning how to rule his kingdom.'"

"My letter was FATHERLY!" Elrond thundered back, finally losing his temper.

"It was CONDESCENDING!" Celebrian retorted hotly, before taking a deep breath and calming herself. "Elrond, I understand what you were trying to say. I know that you loved Isildur despite ...everything, and that you love his son, and all of your other nephews. I understand that you feel their troubles like your own. But I needed you tonight." Celebrian reached out a hand to stroke Elrond's cheek tenderly as she spoke. She knew that Isildur, and fathers, were difficult topics for her husband, strong though he was.

Elrond took a deep breath, guilt and apology flooding into his expressive grey eyes. "And I wasn't there. I'm sorry, Celebrian. I promised to do my best to stop disappointing you when we wed, and it seems that I have failed, again."

"You haven't failed, beloved." Celebrian whispered, stepping closer to him.

Reaching out tentatively, Elrond pulled his wife into his arms. "I don't know what I would do without you. I thank the Valar every day that you were willing to wait so many centuries for me. I would never want to hurt you, I...let me make it up to you."

Celebrian stood up on tip toe, leaving ten small toe prints in ink on Elrond's priceless rug. He didn't notice, though. He was too busy kissing his wife's soft lips.

"Elrond," she murmured breathily, in between long kisses, "There's a wooden spoon in the dagger sheathe strapped to my right thigh. I want you to..."

Pulling away in irritated worry, Elrond reprimanded, "That's where your dagger is supposed to be, meleth. What would have happened if you had been attacked, and had needed it?"

"Oh, honestly, Elrond." Celebrian snapped, reaching out to gently but firmly hold Elrond's chin, so that she could be sure that she had his undivided attention. Her husband's limitless paranoia where her own safety was concerned was extremely wearying to Celebrian, especially at times like this. "I was wearing daggers on BOTH of my thighs DURING the party. When I was also wearing an entirely different outfit, if you'll remember." Celebrian told Elrond tartly.

"Hmm, yes." Elrond replied, mollified. "You looked beautiful in that, too. Although it was less....er."

"You flatter me, oh, great word smith." Celebrian teased. "But what I was about to say, is that I want you to reach under my shift, and fetch me the spoon. Then I want you naked, my handsome Lord. Completely bare. And you're to put yourself over the high arm of your settee, there." Celebrian pointed imperiously with one delicate finger to the comfortable old dark-blue piece of furniture, which had never before in it's life offended Elrond.

"But Bri," Elrond protested, "I read there!"

Celebrian laughed brightly, but to Elrond's ears her merriment sounded less than innocent, and decidedly at his expense.

"You read everywhere." Celebrian told him with a grin, "And this will give you something more exciting than dusty old scrolls and books to think of."

"Someone will see!" Elrond complained, blushing brightly.

Celebrian turned to regard the settee, a thoughtful smile on her face. It was true that anyone who was in the garden would be able to see all of her handsome husband and his predicament, but since there was no one in the garden, Celebrian did not regard that as relevant. "You did ask what you could do to make up for abandoning me tonight..." She murmured wickedly, still grinning.

"Bri!" Elrond protested again, with a shocked smile and a charming blush, "Lucky is out there, and he might see. It would horrify him."

Celebrian raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Lucky is an adolescent hippopotamus." She pointed out dryly, "He is supremely uninterested in the erotic adventures of two elves who have no food for him to eat. Particularly as he is just now happily occupied with fishing all of the leftover fruits and vegetables from out of the deeper fountains."

At times, Elrond had been quite sure that his wife's adopted brothers had advised the new Prince of Dol Amroth to send him the poor injured baby hippopotamus in order to ruin Elrond's love life, so often had he been called in the middle of the night to tend to it before it regained it's health. And if it wasn't Lucky ailing, it had been Celebrian and other ellith and even sometimes Erestor, cooing over the beast. And now, when Elrond wouldn't mind being interrupted, Lucky was fine and elsewhere. Typical. Elrond stifled a growl as his wife giggled at him, before walking over to the side board and poured a glass of brandy.

"Here, meleth-nin." Celebrian lifted the crystal goblet to Elrond's lips, "Drink a bit. You need to relax."

Firmly making himself forget where this particular liquor had come from, Elrond drank. Then he kissed his wife again, and reached under her silken shift, pausing to stroke the soft skin of Celebrian's thigh. Then Elrond removed the wooden spoon from its hiding place, and placed it trustingly into Celebrian's slender hand.

His gray eyes meeting his wife's gaze, Elrond slowly started to remove his clothing. First his boots, and his stockings. Next formal robes, then elaborate tunic, with Celebrian's enthusiastic help, as the complicated ties on the sleeves defeated Elrond, in his distraction. After that, his blue leggings, then fine white undershirt, and silk underwear. A pile of fine blue and silver and russet clothing, on top of the drying ink and the parchment spread over the carpet. Then Elrond undid his braids, because he knew that Celebrian liked to run her fingers through his loose hair.

She did just that, almost immediately. Before stepping back, to regard him with a shyness, almost an awe, utterly at odds with her confident behavior of this evening.

"You say that I am beautiful, and brave." Celebrian told Elrond quietly, her green eyes filled with admiration as she countered, "But I say that you are even more so. To have found the courage to love me at all, given the hurts you had to overcome, and the shyness that is your nature."

Elrond, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, asked, "So...we can just go to our bedchamber? You know, the place where proper married elves do...this?"

"Oh, no, Hir Elrond." Celebrian denied coyly, pointing to the settee again, and giving her husband's pale, muscular bottom a resounding smack with the hand that wasn't holding the wooden spoon.

"You are so cruel, meleth." Elrond complained grumpily, although Celebrian could tell even just from the sparkle in his grey eyes that he was not so reluctant as he seemed.

"You haven't seen cruel, yet, my Lord husband." Celebrian teased in a sultry voice while Elrond walked slowly to the settee, and then leaned himself over the high arm. With another chuckle, Celebrian placed a hand on Elrond's lower back, and pushed his upper body further over the settee. Tapping Elrond's right bottom cheek lightly with the flat of the wooden spoon, Celebrian teasingly instructed, "Higher, meleth. I want your handsome rear better presented for my delicate attentions."

Elrond muttered something profane, but obeyed, to his wife's amused delight. Celebrian adjusted Elrond's position a bit more, with gentle guiding touches of her hand to his hip and taps of the spoon to his backside, until she had him just as she wanted him. Then she begin delivering light, stinging smacks with the wooden spoon, alternating them with gentle pats to the rapidly pinkening skin of Elrond's bottom. He took the spanking silently at first, until the first stinging swat landed on his tender sit-spots. Then Elrond leapt up, whirling to face his wife and seizing the wooden spoon with one hand in a single smooth motion, before flinging the spoon out into the moon-lit garden. Elrond's other hand flew to his offended undercurve, rubbing out some of the burning sting from the spoon. "Are you quite finished?" He asked, making it clear that the answer should be yes.

"No, Elrond, I am not. At least, not if you really want to make it up to me, for your disappearing act tonight." Celebrian replied firmly, putting her hands on her hips.

Elrond's determination to be done as the spankee wavered, but there was still a glint to his eyes that Celebrian found...alarming. But in a good way, almost as if he was saying, 'Oh, so is that how you want to play this...two can win at this game, my lady....' But aloud, the Lord of Imladris only stated calmly, "I am not going into the garden to get that spoon."

"Oh, fine, just get back how I had you. EXACTLY how I had you," Celebrian clarified, as Elrond had at first bent back over the settee, but in such a way that it would have been awkward for Celebrian to reach the sensitive undercurve of his bottom. With a contented smile at getting her own way, Celebrian set to smacking Elrond's sit spots firmly with her hand, quickly bringing them to deep pink shade, to match the color she had painted on his cheeks with the spoon.

Then Celebrian stepped back, softly requesting, "Stay just like that, for a moment, please, meleth. Then you can get up."

"Oh, can I?" Elrond growled, but Celebrian noted with a quick grin that he did stay put, for a few moments. Then he was up, lightning-quick, wrapping her in his bare arms and kissing her breathless.

"Why, you're not cold at all, husband, despite being naked!" Celebrian observed teasingly when they broke for air, "I wonder why that could be?"

"I wonder what the proper husbandly response is to a wife who knocks all of his work and his ink pot off his desk, when all she really wanted to do was destroy one draft letter and vent some justified temper." Elrond replied, in the same teasing tone.

"Oh," Celebrian said, beginning to blush herself, "That was actually what the wooden spoon was originally intended for. If you'd been more gracious about my interrupting you, I mean." She blushed more deeply, as Elrond gave her a reproving look with his smolderig gray eyes. "Now you'll have to be more creative?" Celebrian suggested, her voice ranging into a startled squeak and then a delightfully shocked laugh on the last word, as Elrond picked her up and carried her swiftly over to the same settee. He sat down with a gasp and a wince that made Celebrian laugh again, despite her own position over her husband's lap.

"Oh no," she teased him, "Whatever are you going to do to me now, Elrond?"

It was then Elrond's turn to chuckle. He stroked his wife's soft hair, skillfully removing the jewel from her hair and putting it on a side table. Then he gently swept Celebrian's silver tresses over one of her shoulders, and stroked her upper back, pausing where her bare skin met her rose-colored shift. Grasping the top of the flimsy silk garment firmly in both hands, Elrond ripped it carefully in two.

Celebrian gasped in surprise. If it weren't for the ripping sound and the sudden rush of cool air all over her now naked body, she wouldn't even know the shift was gone. She turned her head to stare over her shoulder in surprise, "So strong," she murmured admiringly.

Elrond gave her a pleased half smile, before her patting her bottom with one hand. "I hope you're still as pleased with me when I'm done with you, my Bri. For I mean to make your bottom just as red as the bodice you left on my desk." With that, Elrond brought his hand down with a loud smack, causing his wife to squeal and wiggle.

"Elrond!" She gasped in protest, squirming over his lap as he continued to rain stinging swats on her bottom, "I liked that shift! Maybe you could just smack me until you get to a nice shade of pale pink rose...you know, in honor of my shift's demise."

Her husband chuckled at that, but he didn't pause her spanking. "I liked my carpet!" Elrond replied instead, bringing his attention to Celebrian's undercurves.

"Ouch!" Celebrian yelped, "I'm sorry! It was a nice carpet! I'm sorry, I didn't really think about the ink."

Elrond snorted, "Oh, don't try to make me believe that. You've never liked that rug. And you are more than capable of planning it's untimely demise, even in the midst of a temper tantrum."

"A...tantrum!" Celebrian gasped in outrage, "Maybe the crimson octopi were a bit...garish. But I...do not... throw temper-tantrums, Elrond...Peredhel! You take that...back!" Celebrian protested, before sighing in relief as Elrond paused in what Celebrian felt was his over-enthusiastic spanking of her poor bottom. Still, she was a little worried, and maybe even a tad disappointed in her husband. Her bottom stung, but it was nowhere near even the play spanking she would have expected for pretty much purposely ruining a gift from Aldarion the Mariner, even though her original plan for the evening had not involved the carpet's destruction. It had merely been fortuitous that the ink pot was full enough to accomplish that goal, in Celebrian's opinion.

"Ah, so you saw your chance to condemn my poor octopus rug to the rag-bin, and you took advantage of it?" Elrond asked, his gray eyes twinkling as he reached for a ruler on the low table by the settee.

"No!," Celebrian protested, before more honestly amending, "Well, yes, but you're completely ignoring how badly the red octopi clash with the rest of the furniture in this room, let alone the chartreuse sails! Elrond, my eyes have to be in this room!" Celebrian's explanation ended in a protesting squirm, as she felt the cool ruler resting on her already well-heated bottom.

"It was my rug, a gift from a friend," Elrond complained, and Celebrian squirmed a little inside at the hurt in his voice, before Elrond continued, landing the first swat with the wooden ruler, "I don't go around destroying the dolls that you keep in a glass case in your solar, even though they are creepy."

"They're....not...creepy!" Celebrian protested, kicking her bare feet against the soft surface of the settee and curling her hands around the edge of the opposite cushion, as she tried to endure and even enjoy the sting of the spanks with the ruler, without crying out loudly. Such a sound of distress might bring someone to the study, or at the least cause Elrond to stop. He wasn't really that upset about the rug, although he was upset enough that Celebrian didn't bother to tell him that the blue settee was also on her List of Furnishings to be Destroyed, Repurposed, or Given Away. Besides, tonight she had gained a new appreciation for the settee. Maybe she could learn to live with it.

Elrond carefully smacked Celebrian's glowing bottom a round dozen times, before putting the ruler aside.

Celebrian sighed contentedly, as her spanking ended and Elrond replaced the ruler with a hand gently stroking and soothing her burning backside.

"I would keep going, for you really were terribly naughty tonight, and your beautiful derriere is not quite as red as I'd intended." Elrond teased her kindly, "Except that I have other plans for your lovely body, plans that don't include you being too sore to enjoy them."

"I was rather hoping that you would say that," Celebrian replied with a throaty laugh, getting up to give him another kiss.

The Lord and Lady of Imladris stayed in his study until the pale light of dawn lit the windows. Then they crept with quiet, tired laughter to their bedchamber, wrapped only in blankets from Elrond's office, and carrying their discarded clothes with them.

"I think we forgot one of my stockings," Elrond murmured tiredly, as they collapsed into their soft bed.

"Oh, bother your stockings." Celebrian retorted, equally exhausted, "I just take my shoes and stockings off whenever I tire of them, if I'm in the private wing of the house."

"That explains so much...." Elrond commented, yawning.

Epilogue: Lord Elrond's study, the following morning.

Erestor stared in wide-eyed confusion at the papers strewn and inky footprints all over his Lord-and-gwador's study. He and Glorfindel were scheduled to meet with Elrond this morning, to discuss plans for the winter patrols and messenger relay. To Erestor's surprise, Elrond didn't seem at all shocked at the state of the room, and Glorfindel was giving Elrond and Celebrian an amused look, despite his impressive hangover.

Niniel had come to Elrond's office in search of Celebrian. The Noldorin lady's expression was appalled, although there was a hint of relieved approval in her voice as she noted, "What on Arda happened here, Aranelya Telpetari? That ocularly offensive rug is completely ruined, and this room looks like monkeys ran amuck in it."

Elrond had sat down on the old blue settee, a demurely and beautifully dressed Celebrian tucked under one of his arms.

"It is a bit of a mess, isn't it?" The Lord of Imladris observed lightly, "Unfortunately, young Lucky managed to get into the house again last night, and Celebrian and I made a mess of my study, trying to corral him away from eating valuable literature, again."

Niniel folded her arms over her chest, giving Elrond and Celebrian a very dubious look, "Aranelya, why were you barefoot?" She asked suspiciously, pointing to one of the inky foot prints.

"It all happened so fast...," Elrond explained weakly, looking a bit overwhelmed.

Celebrian smiled as she said with apparent sincerity, "It is such a pity that Lucky ruined that unique rug from Prince Aldarion the Mariner, as well as some of Elrond's correspondence. But I'm sure that my clever Lord can quickly resurrect any lost work, with your capable assistance, dear Erestor. Why, I think some of it will be even better, for a second drafting."

"If you ask me, Lucky would make good hippopotamus steaks." Niniel muttered.

Elrond didn't think that she was serious, since Niniel cared greatly for Celebrian and Erestor and both were foolishly fond of Lucky, but just in case, he ordered,"No one is to harm Lucky. I promised Rumil and Princess Gilmith of Dol Amroth that I will not have the hippopotamus they rescued killed for food, at least not unless Lucky becomes too unmanageable, which hasn't happened yet."

Relieved, Erestor's gaze moved to his Celebrian, who gave him a triumphant wink. Suppressing a laugh, Erestor nodded in approval, impressed that Bri had managed to convince Elrond to get rid of Aldarion's rug in less than a year, while Erestor had been advocating for it to be put in the stables or someplace similar for centuries.

Chuckling through his discomfort, the very hung-over Balrog Slayer asked his young Lord, "Elrond, wasn't Aldarion the Numenorean Prince who fancied you? I believe that Erestor told me that...."

"Anatar, mixed company!" Erestor immediately interrupted, horrified. To still any further outbursts, he poured a glass of water, which Glorfindel accepted with a reluctant sigh.

Elrond also sighed, while Celebrian appeared most intrigued, giving Erestor the alarming certainty that he would end up telling the whole tale about Aldarion and Elrond at some point. Niniel, predictably, looked appalled, and gave Erestor a rare censorious glare.

Placing the water pitcher back on the sideboard, Erestor spotted something unusual under a stray piece of parchment. "Elrond, gwador, isn't this one of your stockings? What is it doing here?"

Elrond blushed rather fantastically, murmuring, "I'm not entirely sure. It all happened so fast."

Erestor shook his head, amused. He gently teased his Lord, "You said that already, gwador.

Niniel was less amused, "Telpetari," she instructed Celebrian, "tell...him...that the hippopotamus simply must go." When Niniel said "him" in that tone of voice, she was always referring to Elrond. She had yet to reconcile herself to Celebrian's marriage to the half-elf.

For the first few months of their marriage, Celebrian (with Erestor's tacit assistance) had exhausted herself trying to command, entice, cozen, bribe, coerce, or otherwise persuade Niniel to be polite to Elrond. Niniel was perfectly polite, in public. But she still refused to address Elrond in private, unless she absolutely had to. Celebrian and Erestor had at last reluctantly accepted Glorfindel and Ingloren's counsel, which was that Elrond and Niniel would just have to reach some accommodation of their own. The antagonism between Elrond and Niniel did, after all, predate Celebrian's birth by several centuries, and was not even entirely Niniel's fault.

Tactfully, Erestor interjected, "Lucky is getting a bit big for the gardens, Elrond. Have you tried asking Cirdan or Lord Endeyaro if there is space in the Lindon zoo for Lucky?"

Elrond gave Erestor a wounded look, before explaining reluctantly, with a grumpy look on his fair face, "No, I have not. My foster-father and the Lord Protector of Lindon are both still too busy writing me letters that just ooze with their amusement at my expense over this whole situation. I'm not going to give either of them the satisfaction of asking for help."

Celebrian and Erestor exchanged an exasperated look. Glorfindel just sipped his water, smiling faintly.

Niniel shook her head in exasperation, before addressing Celebrian again, "Aranelya, tell ...him...that either he asks, or I ask. And if I have to ask Lord Ciryatan, I'll also mention a few other matters, such as..."

Losing his patience, Elrond interrupted, "I do have a name, MISTRESS Niniel!" Elrond almost never emphasized his rank over that of anyone else, so the fact that he was calling attention to Niniel's lack of title in clear if brief contrast to his own status as Lord of Imladris, caused even her to turn to look at Lord Elrond in surprise.

Elrond took a deep breath, and continued more softly, "I would appreciate it very much if you used my name, or at least addressed me to my face, here in our home."

Niniel more or less ignored that, muttering," Hmmph," under her breath, though she was still facing Elrond when she did so.

Elrond, aprubtly reversing tactics, smiled at the assembled group of elves charmingly. "We do have another quandary. The household staff is still in disarray after the sudden departure of Master Tercano, who tendered his resignation as Castellan in despair after one of Ingloren's experiments blew that small hole in the north wing."

"Don't forget the incident with the eggs and chicken feathers, and also the fire that spread into the artists's studio." Erestor reminded Elrond, determined to be fair to Tercano despite the fact that the ellon had left them in the lurch by quitting right before the Harvest Festival.

Ninel shook her head, "No real loss, if you ask me, Lord Erestor. Master Tercano never had any idea of how to run a proper house, let alone even so backwards an elven settlement as this one. Why, if I were in charge of the Household Staff, there never would have been...."

Elrond cut Niniel off with a pleasant smile, "Excellent. Then it's settled. Congratulations, Castellan Niniel."

Niniel gave her beloved lady's new husband a shrewd look. "Very well, Elrondo," the dark haired elleth agreed levelly, her desire to make Celebrian's new household run smoothly warring with her desire never to give the unworthy being Celebrian had married any satisfaction, "But I would prefer a different title."

"Call yourself whatever you like," Elrond said with some relief, glad to have found someone who was almost aggressively competent to make things to serve as Castellan, while at the same time giving Niniel something to do to keep her too busy to bother him with her disapproval. Elrond continued, "Just please keep the alchemists from exploding things, the smiths from building new forges in the gardens where we've already planted seeds to grow very rare herbs, the cooks from taking Erestor's pet ducks for the stew pot,"

"They're not my pets!" Erestor objected, "I just like taking a walk to the pond during lunch, and sometimes I have extra bread."

Glorfindel snorted, "They're your pets, inyonya. You might as well admit it. Why, just the other day I heard you call that odd looking one by the name of..."

"Alright, Heru Elrondo," Niniel interrupted, to spare Erestor, of whom she was fond, any further embarrassment, "I will make your...menagerie of a household run smoothly. And you will write Lord Ciryatan about the hippopotamus, otherwise I cannot promise you that he will be 'lucky' much longer."


	14. Sometimes Things Just Explode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things just explode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The proverb below is only a proverb in Terry Pratchett's Discworld, which is a lot of fun to read, rather a comedy parody of fantasy. 
> 
> Proverb: "An ancient proverb summed it up: when a wizard is tired of looking for broken glass in his dinner, it ran, he is tired of life." - Terry Pratchett

"Sometimes things just explode." Lord Elladan said philosophically. 

"These 'things,' Elladan," Lord Elrond said severely, "They are not usually THREE of my greenhouses and FOUR of my storerooms." 

"We had the ratio of methane quite off." Lord Ingloren the chief Alchemist murmured in fascination. "Lord Mithrandir, what DOES the fire which emanates from your staff contain?" 

"No." Replied Mithrandir, also called Gandalf. 

"He doesn't like to be called 'Lord.'" Elladan reminded his mentor helpfully. 

"And I will not tell you secrets which belong in the West, Ingloren my old friend." Gandalf not-unkindly reminded the sometimes absent-minded alchemist. "For I still remember a certain experiment with fish...." 

Ingloren smiled, mistily reminiscent, "Ah, Shiny Scales. She was almost eighty years of age when she died. The prettiest goldfish. Galadriel quite doted on her." Ingloren frowned, "It is a pity that the twins ate her." 

"We most certainly did not." Elladan refuted indignantly, "Elrohir and I would never eat a goldfish." 

"He doesn't mean you, young Elladan." Gandalf noted, with a faint smile, "He is speaking of the youngest sons of Feanor. And I believe that they only did so in response to a dare, and after a imbibing a truly prodigious amount of wine for any young adolescent." 

"Well, I do mean you, ion-nin. In fact, I mean all three of you, when I say that every iota of glass WILL be cleaned out of the grass and the bags of winter wheat." Lord Elrond commanded firmly. 

Elladan's eyes widened in disbelief, but Ingloren and Gandalf just turned to consider Elrond with indulgent amusement. 

The Lord of Imladris drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms. "I may be thousands of years - or millenia- younger than the two of you. But I am Lord here, and I will be obeyed. Or you can take your experiments to Lothlorien or Mithlond." Elrond paused to consider that, "In fact, please do. Elladan, you are coming with me." 

Suddenly, picking tiny bits of grass out of a half-mile of grass and hundreds of bags of grain seemed like the better part, and Elladan began to object. Lord Elrond, unaccostumedly for the normally calm part-elven Lord, grabbed his second son by the arm and began to pull him back across the lawns and gardens towards the graceful walls of the Last Homely House. Elladan gave his partners-in-explosions a rueful, worried shrug, and began to walk under his own power. 

Gandalf chuckled a bit to himself, and brushed a fine layer of glass chips off of his plate of grilled chicken and greens.

Ingloren quipped with an amused grin, "Well, they do say that when a Maia...er, Wizard, is tired of picking of picking broken glass out of his dinner, he's tired of living." 

"Ingloren," Gandalf replied, "You have all the discretion of a gold fish. It is a wonder that the sons of Elrond, who are as inquisitive as a bagful of cats, have not discerned the entirety of my origins." 

"Um." Said Ingloren, and set to picking glass out of a bed of orchids. 

Gandalf just sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review if you liked this chapter! Thanks!


	15. A Call to Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond had thought that Erestor would be happy to stay on as regent of Imladris whilst he was gone with the King's armies during the War of the Last Alliance. In retrospect, Elrond had been thinking like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Erestor being the grandson of Glorfindel is not canon, its just an idea that I thought would be fun and incorporated into my DH AU.

The meeting occurring in the private study of Elrond, Viceroy of Imladris, was quiet but tense. If the rest of his honored kin and kith did not come to see that Elrond's opinion was the right one, then the Peredhel had little hope of the council REMAINING quiet.

"I love Erestor as if he were my own child." Glorfindel told their King, Aran Ereinion Gil-Galad, with quiet intensity, "But Erestor has been my student for over a thousand years. I would back him to hold his own against elf in your army or mine. He is ready to face the enemy."

Gil-galad remained quiet, for though he was the King, he was for this moment in his cousin-and-heir's demense. And Erestor was Elrond's sworn elf, though they both served their King.

"No." Replied Elrond forcefully, "I nearly lost Erestor once already, when I failed to save his wife and their unborn elfling."

Ereinion leaned forward to place a gentle hand over his foster-brother's tense arm. "Elrond. That was not your fault. It was the will of the Valar."

Many of his loved ones had tried to convince Elrond of just that, over the decades since Erestor's wife Taminixe and their unborn child had died in his healing hall at Imladris. Erestor himself had been prostrate with grief, despite the loving and bolstering presence of his grandfather Glorfindel. Still, while suffering himself to the point that Elrond had thought he would have to send Erestor west-over-water for healing, Erestor, too, had reassured Elrond that it had not been his fault, and that Erestor did not blame Elrond.

In the end, Erestor did not sail. Elrond and Glorfindel held him anchored to them until Erestor's parents Arandil and Elain arrived, and they took care of Erestor from there. They traveled to Osgiliath for councils with Elendil and his sons, and to Lothlorien, where a reunion with his childhood best friend Celebrian and her family helped Erestor further to revive.

It was a tragedy, to Elrond's mind, that Erestor, who was so kind and so gentle and yet also so strong, would never be a parent on this side of the sea. Then, as time went by, visions had come to Elrond. He had seen Erestor with a half-dozen or so elflings, teaching them, caring for them, encouraging them, loving them. One elfling in particular had brown hair just a shade lighter than Erestor's, and looked enough like Erestor to be his son, if Erestor's son were to have lived and had taken more after Taminixe's delicate features.

Elrond didn't know if that promising future could come to be or not, but he wasn't willing to risk Erestor on the field of battle again. His Chief Advisor and best friend was too kind an elf for such a war. So Elrond rejected his cousin the King's comfort, and Lord Glorfindel's proposal. "Erestor is my advisor, and he's staying here."

Then Elrond's jaw dropped as his Captain Glorfindel calmly countered, "My continuing as a general on this campaign is contingent upon Erestor's being allowed to accompany us."

That statement was met with incredulous stares from not just Elrond, but also Ereinion and their companions.

Glorfindel continued, "It was my promise to him, in exchange for him learning to fight. That I would back him when this day came. He kept his end of the bargain, and I am an elf of my word."

Ereinion leaned back with a sigh, "Elrond, we can't lose Glorfindel. Erestor will have to come."

"Fine," Elrond snapped, out of humor with them all, "Then send Erestor to me. He's an advisor, not a soldier. There will be rules for him if he is to come with the army."

Gil-galad met Elrond's annoyance with his own, "You're more healer than warrior yourself, baby cousin of mine. There are rules for all of us - stop being an overprotective toe rag."

Elrond responded in kind, and just as the peredhel had predicted, the meeting did not remain quiet. In fact, it became loud enough to draw the notice of Lord Cirdan, who was late in arriving.

"My children," Cirdan began, bestowing a disappointed, fatherly look of approbation on his former foster-sons - the King of the Noldor in Middle Earth and his heir, the Lord Viceroy of Imladris- , "If I can hear you from the hallway, then so can your people. Let's try to keep a bit of decorum, shall we?"

"In other words," Ereinion's bodyguard Drystan joked, "You're the King and his greatest Lord. Try not to sound like a couple of elflings fighting on the playground."


	16. Memory's Ghosts Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall harvest festival is here, but young Melpomaen Erestorion is having trouble enjoying it properly. He is troubled by memories of a dearly beloved ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first of probably nine. The first six parts are written, and I'll be posting them every day or so. I hope to finish the last three parts by October 31st. 
> 
> A gen (no discipline) version of this story will be posted under my SusanaR pseud. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Thanks to Kaylee, who read this and told me that it wasn't as awful as I thought. Thanks to Figwit, who asked for a Melpomaen story and inspired me to try to think of something. Thanks to Holly and Figwit (again), whose backstory for Melpomaen in Holly's stories was something I found very appealing. I'm borrowing certain elements of their backstory for Mel, including Edrahil as his father. Solora is Melpomaen's mother in the DH AU) is my OC, although certain aspects of her character and her early death were also inspired by parts of Holly's lovely stories about Melpomaen in Imladris. Thanks to Kaylee and Emma for letting me borrow their OC, Niniel, who ended up in this story, particularly Part I, even though I hadn't originally planned for her to be there. 
> 
> And thanks to Holly and Figwit once more for encouraging me to finish this story, because if they hadn't, "Memory's Ghosts" would still be languishing in a pile of stories I mean to finish some day. 
> 
> Author's Note: This story is set in T.A. 171. I am using T.A. 120 as Melpomaen's birth year, and giving him a birthday in December, close to Yule, or Mettare. So, in this story, Melpomaen is 50 years old, and the twins (who were born in T.A. 129) are 41 years old. In elven years, that would make Melpomaen about 21 years old, and the twins almost 18. So far as I've read, Elves reach their majority when they are 50 years old, although they may not achieve their full growth until they are 100 years old. One of my OCs, Tauriel Maedaladiel, is fifteen years old, which makes her about six and a half years old, in human years. Tauriel also appears in "Hope in the Healing." Her great-grandfather and great-great uncle, Nallos and Carmave Canyavasion, appear in "King or Carnival Elf?" 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> "A Fall Song"
> 
> by Ellen Robena Field
> 
> "Golden and red trees  
> Nod to the soft breeze,  
> As it whispers, "Winter is near;"  
> And the brown nuts fall  
> At the wind's loud call,  
> For this is the Fall of the year.
> 
> Good-by, sweet flowers!  
> Through bright Summer hours  
> You have filled our hearts with cheer  
> We shall miss you so,   
> And yet you must go,  
> For this is the Fall of the year.
> 
> Now the days grow cold,  
> As the year grows old,  
> And the meadows are brown and sere;   
> Brave robin redbreast   
> Has gone from his nest,  
> For this is the Fall of the year.
> 
> I do softly pray  
> At the close of day,  
> That the little children, so dear,  
> May as purely grow  
> As the fleecy snow  
> That follows the Fall of the year."

Morning arms practice at the last Homely House in Imladris, in or about T.A. Year 171: 

The leaves were changing color, and falling, falling in the autumn breeze. The wind brought the tantalizing smell of pumpkin and apple pastries from the kitchens. Normally, the smell made Melpomaen happy. But today, this whole month, really, he felt sad too, almost melancholy. His mother had loved this time of year. And he didn't think of her enough, as happy as he was here. Tonight, the elflings of Imladris would enact one of the age-old rituals of the fall, going from residence to residence to ask for favors (normally sweets and cakes, although one ellith always gave out new paint brushes and watercolor palettes). Melpomaen wondered what his mother had once asked their cook Siana to give out at the sea-side home of his earliest childhood. Melpomaen's mother Solora had always taken Melpomaen out for Lasse-Lanta, from house to house in ghost-ridden Lindon, all the way to the palace that had once been the home of the slain hero-King Ereinion Gil-Galad. Now Melpomaen lived with elves who had been the friends and kin of that lost hero-King. But he couldn't remember what kind of treat his lost mother had chosen to give away to elflings on her favorite holiday, and that made him feel that he was a bad son. Maybe if he just thought a little harder, tried a little bit harder to remember...

"Keep your guard up! Up, Melpomaen! Not down at your feet because you've been distracted by a sparrow!" Lord Glorfindel bellowed. 

Melpomaen jerked his attention back to his sparring partner, who was fortunately Elladan, rather than Elrohir or one of the other guards. Elladan gave Mel a sympathetic look, making sure he had Melpomaen's attention, before beginning the practice drill they were running anew. 

All around Elladan and Melpomaen, the soldiers and swordsmen of Imladris were running through similar practice drills. To their left sparred Thenithol Moicasionchil and Lusinon Duathbenchil, two of Glorfindel's younger guards. Through dint of Glorfindel's and the twins' very focused attentions, the twins and even Melpomaen were capable of holding their own with many of Glorfindel's younger soldiers. And even with some of the older ones, although Melpomaen personally thought that had more than a bit to do with the elders' holding back. But not as much as those elders might like, particularly not in the case of the twins. 

To Melpomaen's right, Elrohir sparred with Lieutenant Caradhon, Lord Glorfindel's second-in-command. Caradhon had dumped the enthusiastic and focused Elrohir on his arse more than once since the practice began, without visibly dampening Elrohir's enthusiasm. Melpomaen wished that Elrohir could apply some of that same enthusiasm to his lessons, but supposed it was too much to hope for, for Elrond's heir to be equally focused at everything. 

"Mel," Elladan reprimanded with an exasperated sigh, "It would be easier to attack you if you weren't getting distracted all the time." 

At the same time, Glorfindel roared, "Elrohir, good, but don't fall for that side feint again. Melpomaen, guard UP!" 

Melpomaen sighed, and put up his shield and practice blade again. He tried to stay focused, but it was the day of the fall harvest celebration. It had not only been Melpomaen's mother Solora's favorite time of year, but also her begetting day, and Melpomaen missed her. He was so happy here at Imladris, with his adoptive father Lord Erestor, and with Lord Elrond's family. But Melpomaen also felt like he was betraying his mother's memory, by being so happy when she was gone. He felt so guilty about it, that he hadn't even mentioned it to anyone. Not to his father Erestor, who always encouraged Melpomaen to talk to him, but who seemed...distracted, and a little sad, these days. Melpomaen had asked about it, and Ada Erestor had said that it was nothing. But Melpomaen could tell that it wasn't nothing. So he didn't want to bother Erestor, and he didn't want to tell Lord Elrond about it during their weekly talks. 

Although Lord Elrond was a good mind-healer, and always kind to Melpomaen, the young ellon thought that missing his mother wasn't really the type of thing that the mind-healing sessions were for. Lord Elrond had said that they were to help Melpomaen work through the difficult times he had endured as an elfling. But all of that had happened after Melpomaen's mother died, and didn't really have anything to do with her. Lord Elrond had tried to get Melpomaen to talk about his mother's death sometimes, but Melpomaen hadn't really been able to. And Lord Elrond had accepted that. He didn't push Melpomaen to talk if Melpomaen didn't want to. Lord Elrond was perfectly willing to sit and meditate while Melpomaen sketched, coming back to consciousness like a swimmer emerging from deep water if Melpomaen changed his mind and wanted to talk. 

Distracted, Melpomaen had lost count of the strikes and parries, and Elladan's blunted practice sword slipped through his guard to rap him sharply on the ribs. Melpomaen yelped, but didn't let go of his sword, and managed to dodge out of the way of Elladan's follow-through, bashing the younger twin's blade away with his shield. 

"Elladan, nice hit. Melpomaen, good recovery." Glorfindel called, from right beside them. Melpomaen didn't jump at the surprise appearance of the Balrog-slayer just behind his right shoulder, and was rather proud of himself for that. 

Glorfindel gave the younger twin and Melpomaen a cheery smile. Melpomaen quailed internally, as that particular grin hardly ever boded well, particularly when they were in Glorfindel's practice yard, and the reborn elf was already in a temper because so many elves (including Lord Elrond and Melpomaen's adoptive father, Lord Erestor) had missed morning practice. 

"We're going to change things up a little," Lord Glorfindel announced with genial bonhomie and a sparkle in his eyes, "Elladan, with Elrohir. Caradhon, with Lusinon. Thenithol, take five." Thenithol was still recovering from a twisted ankle sustained in one of the trips Lady Celebrian had organized to nearby human settlements, to make sure that they had all the food and medicines that they needed for the winter, and share sweets and baked goods with them. 

"And you, Melpomaen," Glorfindel gave his grandson's adopted heir a wolfish grin, "Will spar with me. Let's see if you can pay attention better with an opponent who doesn't wait for you to finish daydreaming." 

Elladan narrowed his eyes at their Captain, and Elrohir sighed softly. 

"Um." Melpomaen squeaked, though he moved into position. He knew that Glorfindel wouldn't really hurt him. In fact, since the siege of Bree, there had been rather a reluctant respect between the two of them, or at least so Melpomaen thought. Besides, if Glorfindel hurt Melpomaen, even by accident, Erestor would be...beyond upset. And protective Erestor was scary. Even the twins thought so. 

Fortunately, Melpomaen didn't have to put his belief that Glorfindel wouldn't hurt him to the test immediately. His gwedyr were looking out for him, even if it might seem like senseless bickering to someone else. 

"I don't want to spar with Elladan!" Elrohir objected, "He cheats by reading my mind. It's not like a proper bout, or sparring. It's like fighting a mirror!" 

Glorfindel, surprised, turned to look at the twins. "You need to learn how to deal with all sorts of opponents, Elrohir." He lightly scolded Elrond's heir, before turning to Elladan. "Well?" He asked the younger twin. 

Elladan shrugged. "What he thinks he's going to do next shows up in his eyes." He complained, "What am I supposed to do, pretend that I don't see it?"

Glorfindel held up a hand for quiet, and then looked up to the sky, as if communing with the clouds. Melpomaen figured that he was probably counting to ten a couple of times. 

"Why," Glorfindel asked pleasantly, after maybe forty seconds, "Is this just coming up now?" 

The twins looked to one another, communicating silently for a moment as the morning breeze gently rifled the wisps of dark hair escaping from their braids. 

"Mostly, you pair us with other people." Elladan pointed out. 

Elrohir added, "And when we're practicing with eachother, we usually agree on what we're going to do, so it's not a problem. But Elladan always cheats with these patterns." 

"Because you think about what you're going to do, like five moves ahead!" Elladan objected.

Glorfindel held up a hand for silence, which both twins ignored, squaring off against one another. 

"Just because you live in the moment like some kind of may-fly is no reason to cheat off of me!" Elrohir snapped back towards his twin. 

"Quiet, both of you!" Glorfindel roared at the twins, before pulling them aside and making them do push ups until they were ready to listen to him. 

Lieutenant Caradhon huffed a sigh of bemusement, and motioned for the other elves to resume practice. "Melpomaen," he called, "Spar with Guard Trainee Lusinon until our Captain and the Trainees Elrondion have finished bickering, er, consulting." The atmosphere of the practice ring was more relaxed on festival days, even for those elves who did show up. Glorfindel seemed to take that as some kind of personal insult, but Lieutenant Caradhon seemed more relaxed about it. He was even genially joking with some of the other guards. Although, Melpomaen pondered, maybe Glorfindel was being relaxed by being relatively patient with the twins. Who knew what a playful balrog-slayer looked like? Erestor, probably. Melpomaen thought to himself. Perhaps Lord Elrond. Or maybe the twins. Not Melpomaen, though. The very thought was kind've frightening. 

After that Melpomaen's attention was mostly on running sword drills with Lusinon, while the twins did push-ups and then found a blindfold for Elladan, after they established that Elladan could, indeed, tell what his twin was going to next with his blade, even though none of the officers could, except sometimes Glorfindel. Melpomaen could see, as Caradhon called a break for them to rest, that Glorfindel had that look on his face, like he was mentally consigning this latest oddity of Elrond's sons to them being twins, or possibly just to them being Elrond's sons. Melpomaen could also tell that the Balrog-Slayer (whom he knew to be a life-long military oddity enthusiast) was intrigued by this latest manifestation of the connection between the twins. The twins liked being the focus of attention from Glorfindel, and Melpomaen was frankly relieved to miss out on it. 

"It's not fair that only Elladan gets to learn how to fight blindfolded!" Elrohir objected at one point. This caused Lusinon, who was perhaps paying a bit too much attention to the 'twins fighting blindfolded' show, and not enough to his own bout with Melpomaen, to laugh and forget what point in the drill they were at. Melpomaen wasn't having his best day ever, but he was paying attention enough to follow the drill. Which, with Lusinon forgetting it, somehow ended up with Lusinon on his backside in the dust, and Melpomaen blinking in bemusement over him. 

"One generally presses one's advantage at this point, at least until one's opponent formally yields." Glorfindel informed Melpomaen genially, again behind Melpomaen's right shoulder. This time Melpomaen did jump, which made Glorfindel sigh. 

"Come, Erestorion." Glorfindel commanded, placing an oddly gentle hand on Melpomaen's shoulder. "Let's see how you do with an opponent who is not so distracted." 

"Um." Replied Melpomaen, getting into position and dropping his eyes as he wondered in frustration if he'd ever manage to do anything right while he was aware of Glorfindel's all-seeing blue eyes upon him. More, they'd been at this exercise long enough that Melpomaen, who spent much of his time scribing and reading, would have to soon fight his own aching muscles and wheezing breaths, as well as his legendary opponent. Not so the twins, who looked fresh as daisies. 

The twins exchanged a glance, and who knew what they would have come up with as the morning's next distraction, save that another elf saved Melpomaen from having to face his adopted father's impressive grandfather over bared blades. 

"Ahem." Objected an elegantly clad elleth, in a tone of faint disapproval. 

"What may we do for you, Lady Niniel?" Glorfindel asked, in the unhappy-but-resigned tone of a warrior elf who just knew that his morning practice was about to be further disrupted. 

Melpomaen straightened hopefully. Lady Niniel and the twins had, at best, a difficult relationship, but the strict elleth was actually rather fond of Melpomaen, and his father Erestor. Maybe Niniel needed the twins for something. They'd almost certainly ask for Mel to go with them as an attendant. 

"Our Aranel Telpetari," Niniel began, using the Quenya translation of Celebrian's name, and the title of "Princess" in Quenya (aranel), a title that Celebrian was only arguably entitled to on her mother's side of the family, "Has asked me to fetch her sons." Niniel gave the sweat-and-dust stained twins a critical look, before continuing, "Aranel Telpetari believes that they will be capable of assisting her with preparations for tonight's celebration." 

It was clear from Niniel's tone that she frankly doubted whether the twins would truly be any help to Celebrian. Melpomaen was sure that the twins picked up on that, since Elladan flushed and Elrohir rolled his eyes. Fortunately, Niniel's own gaze had turned to Melpomaen. 

"Aranel Telpetari requires Erestor's son as well, Heru Laurefindil." Niniel related firmly. 

Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest, a perturbed expression on his face. Elladan failed to entirely stifle a giggle, as Elrohir's face assumed the blank expression that meant the older twin was trying very hard not to laugh. It was not a very well-kept secret that Glorfindel disliked being called by his name in Quenya, and disliked even more having his practices interrupted. 

"Lady Niniel," The Captain objected, "Surely, whatever Lady Celebrian needs my trainees - and Melpomaen- for, it can wait." 

"It cannot." Niniel contradicted, her own gaze narrowing. "Unless you would be disobedient to our Princess's will." 

"She's not a Princ..." Glorfindel began to contradict, before apparently deciding that resistance was futile, since Niniel's mind could not be changed as to the proper amount of deference due Celebrian. Throwing up his hands, Glorfindel conceded, "Oh fine, just take them. Why don't you throw my arms training schedule for all of the trainees into disarray, while you're at it? Oh wait, you have," Glorfindel continued in an aggrieved tone, "Since removing these three makes it so that I have to pair everyone else up differently." 

"Don't be so overdramatic, Laurefindil," Niniel reprimanded the balrog-slayer tartly but quietly in Quenya as the twins and Melpomaen doffed their cloth armor and cared for their weapons. "It makes you sound more like one of Lady Elenwe's feather-headed ladies in waiting, rather than Turucano's Knight. Besides, weapons practice and all other routines on festival days are rather pointless, particularly with the younger ones." 

Glorfindel sighed, as several of his older Lieutenants with particularly sharp hearing strategically coughed. Still, at least Niniel had kept her voice down. He waited until she and the twins and Melpomaen had gotten out of sight, then started to enlighten those elves who remained at his mercy, "No practice on festival days! What won't you soft young elves think of next? Why, in my day, we were out every morning before dawn, keeping our skills sharp! How do you think we kept Gondolin safe for so many centuries of warfare, hmm?" Glorfindel paused, and then picked on one of his elves, "You, Eglandor. You seem to to think something is funny. Do you have an answer for us?" 

"Er...didn't King Turgon keep Gondolin safe by hiding it, Captain, sir?" 

Glorfindel smiled, and Guard Eglandor became grimly sure that he'd just been outflanked. 

"Ah, Eglandor. Very good. Today we're going to build a fixed fortification and have a nice mock battle. You've just volunteered to lead the defenders. Congratulations." 

Part way back to the Hall of Feasts where their mother was mustering decorations and party favors like a general managing troops, the twins frowned. 

"We miss all the fun." Elrohir complained. 

"It's really not fair." Elladan agreed. "We're really good at defending fixed fortifications." 

"Mmm." Melpomaen commented neutrally. After Bree, no one doubted that the twins were very good at defending fixed fortifications. And Melpomaen was quite sure that Glorfindel would manage to make them even better at it, despite their missing what Melpomaen rather thought the younger guards would later be referring to as the Harvest Festival Massacre of T.A. 171. 

"And we've got some splendid new ideas we've been working on." Elrohir added. 

"I'm sure that you have. Maybe you could tell me about them later?" Melpomaen praised, with interest born out of terror. 

Niniel, too, was giving the now grinning twins a wary look. "I'm sure that you will have plenty of time for your military training with Laurefindil, my young Lords." She told them, "And you are both, in fact, admirably dedicated to such endeavors." Rare praise, from Niniel to the twins. "However, your status as your father's, and mother's, heirs, dictates certain responsibilities. Including aiding your royal mother with organizing this celebration." 

Elladan's eyes brightened, and Melpomaen quickly interrupted with a warning look before the younger twin could say something awful, or at least guaranteed to be sufficient to incite Niniel's anger,"Do you know what it is that Lady Celebrian would like our assistance with, Lady Niniel?" 

"I am not sure," Niniel began to answer more warmly, just as a bright golden-yellow leaf fell onto her face. Melpomaen blinked, as they were now inside the corridor that led to the kitchens. It was a closed, interior hallway, and not a place where one would expect leaves to fall. 

Yet falling they were. Not just golden-yellow leaves, but dark red ones, and bright orange and yellow. Melpomaen looked up, to see a grinning elflling with an empty net perched on a wide cross beam. 

"Tauriel!" Elrohir greeted her fondly. 

Elladan chuckled as he removed a leaf from his brother's hair, "A good prank!" He congratulated the strawberry blond ward of Imladris' Chief Chef. 

Niniel was not so amused, but nor was she as upset as Melpomaen might have expected, given the offense. "Elfling," she commanded Tauriel with a sigh, "You will tell your Uncle what you have done, and then return to clean the leaves out of this hallway. And if you climb the walls again, I will deal with you myself." 

"Yes, Lady Niniel." Fifteen-year old Tauriel agreed meekly, at the twins' mutual frantic prompting for the normally ebullient little elleth to back down. 

"Drop down, Tauri." Elrohir offered, "I'll catch you." Imladris' resident tom-boy smiled down at Elrond's heir, looking rather incongruously feminine in her light green dress, with it's embroidery of fall leaves running around the hem and sleeves. 

"Really, my young Lord," Niniel began to object, but before she could finish, Tauriel let out a happy whoop of triumph, and leaped down. Elrohir caught her just as neatly as he had promised, with Elladan and a startled Melpomaen offering an unnecessary spot from either side of Elrond's heir. 

"We do not leap down from walls!" Niniel scolded the four young elves firmly. 

"Well, no, it's probably not the best of manners." Elladan conceded. 

"I mean, neither you nor Erestor nor Nana, or anyone, have ever covered the proper way to have an elfling jump down off of a crossbeam in mixed company." Elrohir agreed. 

"And it was faster than getting a ladder." Elladan pointed out. 

Niniel sighed, and closed her eyes. It looked to Melpomaen like she might be counting to ten. Which was a common thing, with adults who had to deal with the twins on a regular basis. Normally, Melpomaen could see the humor in it even as he was worried for his friends and trying to keep them out of trouble. But today, what with missing his mother, it just seemed too much effort to put in. 

"I don't need this, today, my young Lords." Niniel said at last, giving them a look that made even the twins quail. "And neither does your mother. But we will be having words, your parents and I, about their oldest son inviting an elfling to do something so dangerous as jumping off of a crossbeam." 

Tauriel crossed her arms, "It wasn't their fault, Lady Niniel. That was how I was going to get down, anyways. Without 'Roh, 'Dan, or Mel here, I would have had to tuck and roll for my landing." 

"So this has happened before." Niniel gave all three of the ellyn a very disappointed look, adding, "Elrohir and Elladan take after their...father, too much for me to reasonably expect sense from them. But I had hoped for more from you, Melpomaen." 

Normally, this would have upset Melpomaen a lot. Now...well, he felt guilty, and he offered Niniel a sincere apology. But right now he was hurting too much inside to feel upset about disappointing Niniel as he should. And every time he forgot to feel bad, and started feeling happy again, he would just feel worse. Because he was here, happy, having the time of his life. And his mother was lost to him forever, while he'd deserted her beloved husband, the father who gave him life. Not without reason, but he had. 

Niniel's disappointed, scolding expression turned to worry. "Melpomaen," She inquired gently, "Are you quite allright?" 

The twins came to Melpomaen's rescue again. 

"He's hungry." Elladan offered. 

"We're all famished." Elrohir added. "Glorfindel got us up before dawn, and only let us have some toast and fruit for breakfast." Glorfindel had also offered them egg pastry, but they were all tired of anything-in-a-pastry. Imladris' chief chef, Lord Carmave Canyavasion (who was also Tauriel's great-great-uncle, and guardian), happened to actually be a DESSERT chef. Whenever his chief assistant was gone, the Last Homely House always ended up with everything-in-a-pastry, for all three meals of the day, as well as tea and snacks. Sometimes Lady Celebrian or Lady Niniel would put their foot down, and tell Carmave that he had to make something that they selected. But more often, the axe-wielding pastry chef's tyranny over the kitchens was undisputed. 

"I'm hungry, too." Tauriel offered ingenuously, as Melpomaen's stomach inadvertently confirmed his twin gwedyr's story by grumbling. Melpomaen blushed and murmured apologies, which Niniel waved off, a thoughtful look on her face as she considered the four of them. Personally, as hungry as he was, Melpomaen would prefer not to go to the kitchens. Normally, he loved to visit the warm, good-smelling rooms. Melpomaen's elflinghood cook, Siana Afoniel, had come to Imladris several years ago, hired by Erestor to serve as Imladris' Assistant Chief Chef. But right now, Siana and her husband Drystan and their daughter Eilunwen, Tauriel's playmate and best friend, were visiting Siana's family in Lindon. And Melpomaen missed them a lot. More than he'd expected too. It felt almost like being abandoned by his mother's death all over again, even though it was only temporary. And even though he now had a loving father, and best friends, and lots of elves who were kind to him and looked out for him. 

"Really, really hungry." Tauriel amended, rubbing her stomach with an appealing, sad-little-elfling look directed towards Niniel. 

Niniel gave the little elleth a firm look. "Very well." She said at last. "It will give me a chance to explain to your uncle exactly what you have been up to this morning." 

Tauriel sighed, and the three elflings and Melpomaen followed Niniel towards the kitchens. 

"It was a good prank, but next time you should wait until it's just us and Mel. Or even Ada and Nana, or Captain Glor. Niniel doesn't like Narbeleth pranks." Elladan explained to the Chef's niece quietly, as they walked towards the kitchens and the great hall. 

"She thinks it's a barbaric custom. I don't think the Noldor elves who are older than dirt had it when they were little." Elrohir explained thoughtfully. 

Melpomaen sighed, and wished that the twins would keep their funny jokes to themselves, or at least not share them with elflings too young to have developed the necessary discretion. However, they got to the kitchens without incident, although Melpomaen was quite sure that Niniel had overheard. Maybe she was just tired of locking horns with the twins today. Sometimes even the most straitlaced elves were overcome with exhaustion. 

"No, no, no," Lord Carmave Canyavasion berated an assistant cook while brandishing a carving knife, "The pumpkin innards must be roasted WITH the spices and butter, otherwise they will taste like....pumpkin." The kitchens stood still and quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Carmave was a brilliant baker and an excellent chef. He was not a bad teacher, but he had quite the temper. Even the twins treaded carefully in the kitchens, particularly when Assistant Chief Chef Siana was not in residence. 

"Hi, Uncle Carmave." Tauriel said brightly. 

And that was all it took. The Terror of the Kitchens, the Axe-wielding Pastry Chef of Doom, who had cut a wide swath through Sauron's armies during three different wars, put down his knife and knelt down to smile in greeting at his little niece. "Well, well, well, my little raccoon," he greeted Tauriel, "What troubles have you been causing today?" The kitchen staff, recognizing the sudden appearance of a rainbow from the clouds as harbinger of a calm in the storm, wisely started about their assigned duties again. Although Melpomaen did notice that the unfortunate elleth in charge of the pumpkin pie was getting quiet coaching from a more experienced cook. 

"No trouble, not really." The little girl answered, hopping nimbly up onto a stool by the main table, where the elflings (and Melpomaen) were accustomed to begging snacks of the chef on duty. "Just a prank, for the festival. It didn't hurt anybody, or ruin any food, or make TOO big of a mess to clean up. The Elrondionnath thought it was funny." 

"Oh, hinya?" Inquired Niniel archly, "Perhaps you should tell your uncle the full story, and let him decide." 

Carmave's eyebrows raised, and he sat down beside his little great-niece. "Tauriel." He said kindly, but with a firm tone to his voice. "Tell me what happened." 

Tauriel did, with a sad look in her eyes. Niniel, satisfied that the little girl was being truthful, turned to aid one of the undercooks in deciphering Celebrian's handwriting regarding instructions for making a traditional festival breads. 

The twins took advantage of the lull in their schedule to have a snack and chat with some of the young elves in the kitchen, in particular the attractive ellith. Melpomaen had to smile in bemusement. He still wasn't particularly interested in ellith. Oh, they looked pretty to him, and smelled nice, and had sweet voices. He had friend who were ellith. But he didn't get all...dewey-eyed and flirty around them, not like the twins did. And the twins weren't even of age, yet. 

"Eat, Mel." Elrohir took the time to urge, pushing a meat-and-cheese pastry into Melpomaen's hands. Melpomaen ate, because if he didn't he knew that the twins would not leave him alone. But he didn't really taste it. The pastry was good, he was sure. But it reminded him of Siana being missing, which reminded him of his mother being gone, which made him feel awful, again. 

Meanwhile, Carmave had heard the full story of the falling leaves. "Tauriel, sweetling," he scolded with a sigh, "The leaves are easily enough cleaned up, but you know better than to climb up so high. You could be hurt very badly if you fell, and there would I be?" 

"Where would we all be?" Murmured a kitchen maid quietly. It was generally agreed that Carmave had been much less of a tyrant since his great-niece came to live with him, as awful as the tragedy had been which had brought the King of the Greenwood himself to escort Nallos' great-granddaughter to Imladris, racing the onset of winter. 

"I...don't...don't know, Uncle." Tauriel sniffled, tears coming to her eyes as she realized how much she'd upset her beloved great-uncle. "I wasn't thinking of that. Just that it would be a funny prank, and pretty to see leaves in the Hall." 

Carmave scooped his little niece up into his arms, "You need to think learn to before you act, sweetheart. But don't worry about it. I love you, just as I loved your great-grandfather Nallos who was my brother. You are young yet, and we'll keep working on thinking before engaging in dangerous activities like climbing up walls to perch in ceilings. You're already more responsible about such matters than your great-grandfather was at a like age." Cuddling the small elleth in his arms, Carmave left orders for preparations for the noon meal and the evening's feast to continue, and exited the kitchens in the direction of his quarters, picking up a wooden spoon on his way. 

Elladan winced on Tauriel's behalf. 

Melpomaen was sorry for Tauriel, that she had gotten into trouble with her doting great-uncle on a holiday. And sympathetic for her, that she was getting into more trouble than usual since she didn't have Siana and Drystan's daughter Eilunwen to play with. But Melpomaen didn't feel too sympathetic....Tauriel had known better than to climb up onto a rafter. He'd scolded her for it often enough himself. And Carmave loved Tauriel, and had taken the time to explain to her why she was in trouble before punishing her. Tauriel knew that her guardian loved her, and that he would never really hurt her. Melpomaen wondered if it made him hard-hearted, but he had a difficult time feeling too sorry for her. Many other elflings had not been so lucky, at her age. 

"I hope that she'll still at least be able to go a-wandering and to the party to celebrate Narbeleth....ah, Lasse-lanta." Elrohir commented, correcting himself to the Quenya term in deference to Niniel. It was an effort that neither twin normally bothered to make, which made Melpomaen think that they must be serious about arguing on behalf of Tauriel's case, if they were trying to get Niniel on their side. 

"Oh, I'm sure she will." Assistant Cook Sabariel assured the twins with a wink, "Tauriel has Carmave wrapped around her little finger." 

"It might be better if he were more strict with her." Niniel said with a disapproving sniff, "She's going to grow up to think that she can do whatever she likes without consequence. Why, already she spends more time with the grooms and the most hoydenish of our elflings than in properly feminine pursuits." 

"It's healthy for a youngling to be out-of-doors." Sabariel quietly disagreed, "And she misses the forest where she grew up. Besides, she's just a child. She has plenty of time to learn to be a proper elleth." 

"Of course," Elladan commented, although Melpomaen didn't really think that anyone had invited him to the conversation, "One of Tauriel's principal examples of proper femininity is my mother. Who..." 

"Yes, my young Lord," Niniel cut off Elladan before he could elaborate further as to Celebrian's celebrated status as a warrior and a smith and any number of other untraditional roles. Sabariel and most of the kitchen staff knew enough of what Elladan might have said that they were suppressing smiles, "Your mother, whom we should be assisting." Niniel finished. 

So Melpomaen and the twins ended up spending their morning hanging up buntings and other decorations in the Hall of Feasts, and the other hallways leading to and from the stables and the public galleries to the Hall. Lady Celebrian, as it turned out, was charmed by the idea of falling leaves decorating the hallways. So one of the things that the three young ellyn found themselves doing, was rigging nets quite similar to the one Tauriel had used to shower them that morning, only set so that they would release leaves only a few at a time. Melpomaen's mood deteriorated as the morning continued. His mother Solora had used to have Melpomaen help her to collect leaves, and make them into wreaths to decorate their doors in the fall. 

"So, Melpomaen." Elrohir began uncertainly, catching his older friend's attention. Elrohir was rarely uncertain. 

"Yes?" Melpomaen answered, confused. 

"We've decided that you're not going to come with us and the other elflings to wander to different residences and ask for sweets." Elladan said firmly. 

"Wh..what?" Melpomaen asked, startled and hurt. After his mother had died, he'd lost most of his childhood friends, because his father wouldn't let him visit them anymore. He'd always been afraid that something like that would happen again, or that the twins would stop liking him because he was something of a wet blanket, or because he sometimes lost his temper with them. But after everything they'd been through together, Melpomaen had almost stopped fearing it. Now he felt like an arrow had landed in his chest, making a gaping hole where his heart normally lodged. 

Meanwhile, the twins were taking turns to earnestly explain, "Well, you're not an elfling anymore, so you really shouldn't have to hang out with us doing boring, elfling things all the time. 

Melpomaen didn't know what to say. He had been enjoying his belated second elflinghood, and was sad that it had technically ended before last Yule with his fiftieth birthday. Melpomaen liked boring, elfling things. Well, at least he liked being in history lessons with the twins, and spending time with them, and celebrating harvest festivals and other holidays with them. Pretty much everything except getting into trouble with them, but even that had its charms. Melpomaen's life was never boring with the twins around. And it was always nice to be included, only now evidently he wasn't, anymore. 

The twins continued, apparently not noticing how much their suggestion had upset their gwador, "So we've made plans for you to go out to a party in one of the galleries with the other young adult elves." 

"Belegarth, Haldanar, and Saelorn have said that they'll look out for you, make sure that you have a good time, get drunk but not too drunk, that type of thing." Elrohir told Melpomaen helpfully. 

"I don't drink." Melpomaen reminded the older twin dully. 

"Oh, that's just because you haven't had the chance." Elladan told Melpomaen blithely, "Getting drunk makes one feel quite relaxed. Not too relaxed, like some of the potions I've concocted over the years. Just more like yourself, only more-free, less burdened. It will be good for you." 

Melpomaen shook his head in disbelief, "Just a few years ago we were brawling with Belegarth, Haldanar, and Saelorn, for good reason, and now you expect them to look out for me?" Melpomaen had no idea what the twins were thinking. To the best of his knowledge, other than being a bit quiet and maybe a little sulky of late, he hadn't done anything to deserve what he thought was the likely result of him spending an evening drinking with Belegarth, Haldanar, and Saelorn - i.e., Melpomaen tied up to a tree somewhere, naked and covered in honey and left for the animals to find. 

"Well, yes." Elrohir seemed surprised that Melpomaen didn't appreciate the twins' latest brainstorm. "But now that they've decided that we earned our place, and that you have a rather impressive right hook when you're irritated," 

"And now that Saelorn has left the guard for the archivists' staff where he's much happier anyway, and people appreciate his constantly asking questions," Elladan continued, "We've gotten on quite well with them since. They quite like you, you know. Everyone does. You're quite likable." 

So likable that the twins didn't even want to spend time with him anymore, Melpomaen reflected disconsolately. "Fine. Whatever." He said in answer to the twins. If they didn't want him, then he would go spend time with the three idiots. It couldn't possibly make him feel any worse than he did right now. 

The twins exchanged startled glances. Probably because that had been more like an answer they would give to someone they didn't want to talk to anymore, than anything they had expected from the calm Melpomaen, who was several years older and their sworn blood-brother. 

"Galasdes and Ceredithlas will be there too," Elrohir pointed out, speaking of two of the prettier and more charming young ellith of Imladris, "Galasdes in particular said that she was looking forward to seeing you." 

"And Ceredithlas is fond of you, too." Elladan soothed. 

Melpomaen nodded jerkily, getting to his feet. "I'm to have lunch with Erestor." He told the twins, his breath almost catching in his throat. He turned to leave and started walking away, before turning back to the twins. 

"No, you know what? I'm not taking this from you." He told them, hurt turning into anger. "I do everything for you, trying to keep you out of trouble when you are the most...well, it's as if you two are determined to get into more trouble than any other elflings ever have in the history of Arda. And this is the way that you thank me?" Melpomaen's fists were at his side, clenched in furious hurt. He wasn't aware of it, but he was almost yelling. 

To Melpomaen's astonished frustration, the twins didn't even look guilty after his tirade. They just looked confused. Melpomaen's heart ached, but he had his pride. He took a deep breath and walked away. 

If Melpomaen had looked back, or waited for a few moments just around the corner to hear what the twins said after he had left, he would have heard them say, "What's his problem? Doesn't he want to enjoy being a young adult elf without us holding him back? We're still not technically even allowed to drink, or to stay out past midnight. Not unless Ada and Nana or some other adult is right there with us, ready to quash anything really fun before it gets half-started." 

Elrohir shrugged, "I don't know. This is the best thing that we've thought of to help him feel happier than he has been, the past week or so." 

Sighing, Elladan agreed, "Ok. We'll try it. Like an experiment. Then if it doesn't make him happier, we'll try something else." 

"Tonight is going to be boring without him, though." Elrohir mourned. 

"Yes." Elladan agreed, "Much less fun. But I have had some ideas..." 

Elrohir regarded his twin with a mixture of anticipation and wariness, "Just going from house to house to get sweets and then going to a party isn't that bad...but still, what do you have in mind? It can't be too exciting. I don't want to get in trouble with Ada and Nana." Or anyone else, for that matter. But if their parents weren't too upset with the twins, the disapproval of other persons was generally a matter of relative indifference in their lives. 

"Oh, we won't get into trouble, I don't think. I've just come up with some things to make Narbeleth more exciting for all of the little elflings, as well as us. Some based on traditions of Tauriel's mother's folk, the Nandor." Elladan explained. 

Elrohir nodded, pleased, "Ada should like that, cultural appreciation and such." 

But Melpomaen wasn't the twins, and he didn't eavesdrop around corners. So he didn't hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you think of the chapter!


	17. Memory's Ghosts Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen's adoptive father Erestor tries to determine what is bothering his son. Melpomaen is not in a sharing mood, and later begins to dream of his childhood, when his beloved mother was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the mountains; another, a moonlit beach; a third, a family dinner of pot roast and sweet potatoes during a myrtle-mad August in a Midwestern town. Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years. Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once. A complex vision leaps out of the undergrowth." - Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses

Melpomaen took a deep breath, calming himself before his lunch with his adoptive father Erestor. Just because he was upset with the twins, was no excuse to take it out on Erestor. 

Erestor opened the door before Melpomaen could finish counseling himself to calm. Concern was clear in the dark eyes of Elrond's Chief Advisor. 

"Ion-nin, come in," Erestor said in a firm but soothing voice, one arm going around Melpomaen's slender shoulders to gently guide him into the chamber when Melpomaen hesitated. 

When the door was closed, Melpomaen swallowed, not really sure what to say. He felt a little better already, just being with Erestor, in his father's warmly appointed chambers, a place redolent with the scent of books and safety. 

After a moment, Erestor pulled Melpomaen into his arms, embracing him tightly. "Whatever is the matter, my dear son?" Erestor had felt Melpomaen's distress begin, just twenty or so minutes ago. It had so worried him that he'd lost track of the conversation he was having with Elrond. 

Which had caused Erestor to answer Elrond's question of "What's the matter?" with "More potatoes, I think," which had been the next item on the agenda of their meeting, concerning what additional supplies were needed at the waystations the elves manned between Imladris and the borders of Arnor. Elrond had dismissed Erestor early for lunch with an older brother's exasperated tolerance. He knew that his younger gwador and advisor was new to fatherhood, and relatively new to feeling Melpomaen's distress over the bond that was developing between them. 

Erestor's kind, dark eyes studied him, patience and love for his adopted son plain to see. 

Melpomaen, for his part, was simply treasuring the feeling of being held safe in the arms of a father who loved him. Melpomaen wasn't really read to talk, and Erestor did not press. He just pressed a gentle, fatherly kiss onto Melpomaen's dark head. Melpomaen felt a little foolish for letting his new father hug him when he was already of age, but...it was nice, and still a new thing. The twins had never made fun of Mel for it, and now they didn't seem to care...Melpomaen took a deep, ragged breath. 

"Take a few minutes to calm, my elfling. I have all of the time in the world for you." Erestor counseled, gesturing for Melpomaen to sit beside him, on the comfortable window seat overlooking one of Imladris' many gardens. Melpomaen shut his eyes and took another deep breath, still feeling like he had lost his best friends in the world, and he didn't even know why. 

"Whatever it is that is bothering you, Melpomaen muin nin, I am sure we can figure it out." Erestor assured his son, running a gentle hand along Melpomaen's tense back. 

Sighing, Melpomaen relaxed against Erestor's soft, burgundy-and-gold robes. "You look like your rooms, today, Adar." Melpomaen murmured, then blushed for the irrelevance of that observation. It was true though, Erestor's large suite in the family wing of Elrond's home was paneled in rich, gleaming cherry wood. Sun poured in through many windows, and the comfortable furniture in the sitting room was upholstered in soft, lush red and gold velvet. Hangings softened the stone walls, with shades of burgundy and gold again predominating, although the tapestries were mostly historical, and so there was blue from the sea beside Lindon, and green for the trees of Imladris. 

There was black-and-white as well, as Erestor had proudly framed several of Melpomaen's charcoal sketches of himself, the twins, and Elrond and Celebrian. There was one of the twins fencing with Glorfindel which Melpomaen was particularly proud of, and another of Elrond riding with Erestor. It had taken Melpomaen forever to get the arch of Erestor's mare's neck just right, and he still wasn't sure he liked it. But Erestor loved it. It hung in his study across from his desk, between a portrait of Melpomaen and a portrait of Erestor's late wife, Taminixe. Both had been painted by Mistress Gailest, one of Imladris' foremost portraitists. Below those portraits hung another row, with a water-color of Erestor's parents, Arandil and Elain, and a painting in dramatic, vivid colors, of Elrond, Celebrian, the twins, and Celebrian's parents, the formidable Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. A smaller sketch of Erestor, Elrond, and Glorfindel poring over maps hung beside the painting of Elrond's family. Erestor had told Melpoamen, in a sad tone of voice, that the artist had been Ereinion Gil-galad himself. Melpomaen hadn't asked further questions, not wanting to make his father recall sad memories. 

But the item which most predominated in Erestor's chamber was books. They were everywhere. Bookshelves lined every wall, and scrolls poured out of scroll-cases built on top of the bookshelves. Melpomaen thought that his father must have employed an entire family of carpenters, to get it all done, not to mention generations of scriveners, scribes, and book binders. There was a book shelf built into the base of each window seat. There was even a bookshelf built into the base of Erestor's wide four poster cherry-wood bed, although that one was often obscured by soft burgundy blankets, and gauzy golden curtains. 

Books were piled on burgundy-and-gold carpets, and on top of every flat surface through the entire suite, except for a chess table and the small round dining table, where a lunch was currently spread out. As awful as he was still feeling about the twins no longer wanting to spend time with him, Melpomaen's stomach grumbled at the appetizing smell of fresh baked bread, steak-and-mushroom pie, savory vegetable soup, and hot apple cider. 

Looking himself over, Erestor chuckled wryly, "I suppose I am dressed to resemble my rooms. And no wonder, as these robes were a gift from my gwathel Celebrian, who also decorated my chambers. It seems that she must think that these colors favor me." Between them, Celebrian and Niniel took care of arranging most of Erestor's wardrobe, and had since Celebrian's marriage to Elrond. Since Melpomaen had come into Erestor's care, Celebrian had performed the same kinswoman's service for Melpomaen. 

"They are good colors on you." Melpomaen complimented his father, glad to have something to speak of that was not difficult. "Although I like the darker tunics you have as well. But not for...Lasse-lanta." 

Erestor considered Melpomaen with solemn concern, although his voice was light as he answered, "No, not for a festival. I would like to know what troubles my elfling on such a happy day. I doubt it was hanging decorations for Celebrian, although," Erestor's voice turned amused, "I certainly heard other elves complaining about such tasks. Including a certain Balrog-Slayer." 

Melpomaen couldn't help it. He grinned. Lord Glorfindel's booming voice and Celebrian's softer alto had clashed in the Great Hall, and the result had been Glorfindel helping his younger Guards to decorate the beams. 

"I think perhaps you would prefer to eat first, hmm, ion nin?" Erestor asked, as Melpomaen's stomach growled again. 

Melpomaen ducked his head as his father waved him to a seat at the table, "I don't understand. I'm sure that this is the age I actually am, yet I'm still hungry..." 

"You will eat more than the average elf until you reach about a hundred years of age, ion-nin." Erestor told Melpomaen kindly. "You will keep growing a bit taller, until then, as well." 

"That at least is welcome," Melpomaen said with relief, as he passed his father the honey-butter that Erestor preferred on his bread. Melpomaen was taller than many of the ellith at Imladris, but not the ellyn. "The twins are almost taller than I, and they are only forty-..." Melpomaen remembered what was going on with the twins, and trailed off abruptly. 

"Forty-one." Erestor supplied helpfully, between sips of soup. "I remember very clearly when they were born. I do not believe that I had any peace between March first of 129 and when you came to join us." 

"About that..." Melpomaen murmured softly, putting his spoon down. "I...they..." 

Concerned, Erestor reached out a hand to clasp his son's. "What is it, ion-nin? Something with the twins, hmm?" 

"They don't want me to spend time with them anymore." Melpomaen exclaimed, fighting tears. He swallowed past a lump in his throat, afraid of losing Elrohir and Elladan, afraid that if he did he would lose his father and his other friends at Imladris, and on top of all of that, afraid that he sounded like a tiny, whinging elfling. 

Erestor didn't seem to think that Melpomaen was whining, or acting like a child. Or at least, if he did think so, he gave no indication of it. He just smiled with gentle sympathy, "I doubt that, Melpomaen muin nin." Erestor countered steadily, turning to clasp both of Melpomaen's hands. "I think that you three have been friends through too much for that to happen. But sometimes even the best of friends quarrel. Celebrian and I certainly did, as elflings. As did Elrond and I - we still do, as a matter of fact." 

"It...it wasn't a quarrel. Not really." Melpomaen explained in a harsh whisper, "They...I'm not even going to be with them, tonight." 

Erestor frowned. "No? Well, you are growing up, ion-nin. The twins are more mature than many forty-one year old elflings, but there is nothing wrong with you having other friends, who are also of age. Other elves with whom you can enjoy some of the privileges of having reached your majority." 

Melpomaen nodded numbly. He didn't want to talk about it more. It just made him feel bad. 

"Ion-nin?" Erestor asked, kind but firm. His gentle hand tipped Melpomaen's chin up, and Elrond's chief advisor frowned worriedly at the distress he saw in his adopted son's almond eyes. "Melpomaen, what is wrong? Talk to me, please, my dear son. I cannot help you if I do not know what is troubling you." 

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Melpomaen managed only, "It's...just that it's hard. Um, I'm sure it's good. To have other friends." Although Melpomaen personally doubted whether Belegarth, Haldanar, and Saelorn could ever become friends of his. 

Erestor hesitated, still concerned but somewhat reluctant to press for further details as to the fight between Melpomaen and his de-facto nephews. Normally, Melpomaen took it as a point of personal pride that he kept the twins' secrets, although he would seek out Erestor, or Celebrian, if he thought the twins' secrets were potentially dangerous. Normally. Erestor sighed, "Ion-nin, you and the twins didn't quarrel over them...I don't know, planning to see how far into the river they can throw flaming pumpkins?" 

Melpomaen blinked, "Why would anyone light a pumpkin on fire and throw it into the river? Then it couldn't be made into a pie, or pumpkin seed snacks, or a decoration." 

"Ah... no matter, ion-nin. Suffice it to say that there have been elflings since the founding of Arda who have done so." Including a much younger Erestor and Celebrian, long ago in Eregion. Erestor assumed a more stern expression, which wasn't hard, since even his normally well-behaved elfling had worried him terribly, on occasion. "Melpomaen, I trust you. I do. Your judgment is very good for an elfling of your age. But we all make mistakes," a certain trip to Bree, and another to Mithlond, occurred to both father and son, as Erestor continued, "and if whatever you do not wish to tell me involves any possibility of harm to you, or to the twins, then I expect you to tell me about it." 

Dark almond eyes wide, Melpomaen shook his head. "Nay, Ada. No potential of harm, just..." Melpomaen trailed off again, and sighed. 

"I would rather you share your troubles," Erestor told Melpomaen softly, reaching out to brush back one of the braids that kept Melpomaen's dark brown hair out of his face, "Although I do understand, and accept, that you may not wish to tell your Adar everything. But, Melpomaen," Erestor warned sternly, "If you get hurt, or frighten me by running off...who knows where, just because you wouldn't talk to me...." 

"I won't!" Melpomaen squeaked in immediate reassurance. Even at their worst, the three buffoons wouldn't actually hurt Melpomaen. They had too healthy of a respect for Glorfindel's vengeance, and the twins' ingenuity. Melpomaen winced, as he thought that the twins might not care enough to protect him anymore with their pranks. But still, the Balrog-Slayer did not permit his guards to abuse other elves. 

"Good." Erestor replied, softening his expression with a fond smile. "In that case, then perhaps you would like to discuss the book you borrowed last night? Yes, I saw your note," The Chief Advisor said fondly, at the expression of faint worry on Melpomaen's face, "and again, ion-nin, I am happy to have you borrow any of my books, at any time. As long as you leave a note." 

Melpomaen smiled, feeling for that moment happy and content even though he was on the outs with the twins. He loved spending time in Erestor's chambers, basking in his father's company. "I...did have some questions about it," Melpomaen replied tentatively, "And I think you know King Aldarion, the Mariner?" 

"I knew him quite well. He and Elrond were close friends, and held one another in high regard. Though when I knew him well, he was still Prince, not King." Erestor answered, relaxing as he discussed one of his favorite topics, history, with one of his favorite elves. 

The two discussed Aldarion the Mariner, and other Numenoreans of note, for the better part of two hours. At which point Erestor looked to the window with a sigh, "I am promised to return to Elrond, ion-nin. And I think you could use a nap, after your practice this morning and fine efforts for Celebrian." 

"Nay, Ada, I should start working on the correspondence Lord Elrond wanted us to duplicate, before sending to Lothlorien, so that it could be sent to the other elven settlements as well." Melpomaen disagreed. 

"It can wait." Erestor said kindly, but with a note of steel in his voice. Erestor had started having his son over to lunch three times a week so that he could keep himself better apprised of how much work Melpomaen was doing, and how his son was getting on generally. "Anatar Glorfindel was pleased with you, this morning at practice. He said you were no more distracted by the festival than most of the other youngsters, and that he is impressed by how fast you are improving." 

Melpomaen's jaw dropped in shock, "I...don't think I did that well at all, Ada. I'm clumsy, and..." 

"Melpomaen Erestorion." Erestor scolded, "You are not clumsy. And I think that the Balrog Slayer might have a better idea of who is doing well at practice than a fifty year old scribe." 

"I...of course you're right, Ada, it's just, he was yelling..." Melpomaen tried to explain. Erestor's patience with Melpomaen's lack of confidence sometimes wore thin, particularly if Melpomaen's word choice were anything like the terms that Melpomaen's birth father Edrahil had used to berate Melpomaen. If Melpomaen gave Erestor the impression that he really thought that he was clumsy, or hopeless with a blade, Melpomaen would definitely receive a lecture from Erestor. And sometimes more than a lecture, if Melpomaen let feeling as if he were worthless or incapable affect his actions. 

Erestor's stern expression softened at that, "Oh, aye, he does yell, Anatar Glorfindel. That doesn't mean that you're not improving, ion-nin. I'll have him have a word with you." 

"Oh, that's really not necessary, Ada, I'm sure he's very busy, what with, ah," Melpomaen frantically fumbled. He really didn't enjoy one-on-one time with Glorfindel, which could be awkward, because Glorfindel and Erestor spent a lot of time together. 

"He is busy, but he will make time for you." Erestor's tone was firm. 

Melpomaen's shoulders slumped. "Maybe I could use a nap." The thought of his bed, in his cool room of blue and green sea colors, and the white curtains billowing like sails, was very tempting. But then, to get to his room, he had to go past the twins', and they...well, Melpomaen just didn't want to see them now. 

"Perhaps you should nap here," Erestor suggested, guiding Melpomaen gently in the direction of Erestor's own bed chamber. "I can wake you when I come to change for dinner. You are meeting other young elves, in the long gallery where Celebrian has planned to have drinks and food set up for them?" 

Melpomaen nodded, "Aye, Galasdes Olthavroniel and several of her friends. I think that Guard Lusinon will be there, as well." Melpomaen didn't mention Belegarth, Haldanar, and Saelorn. He knew that Erestor was still out of humor with them, from the time several years ago when they teased Melpomaen into starting a fight with them. Instead, he protested against the idea of napping in Erestor's room, even though he really liked it. "Aren't I too old to curl up in...in my Adar's bed?" Melpomaen pointed out, flushing with pleasure still at being able to call Erestor by that title. 

"Of course not, ion-nin." Erestor soothed. He helped Melpomaen settled into the bed, pulling the warm, soft red blanket over his son's slender form. "Do not be in such a hurry to grow up, ion-nin." Erestor told Melpomaen, pausing to press a paternal kiss on Melpomaen's brow. 

Melpomaen summoned up a smile for the affection, and promised, "I won't." After all, Melpomaen himself had never been in a hurry to grow up. That he had 'grown up to fast,' as Erestor and Elrond and Celebrian and the twins and everyone else seemed to think, well, Melpomaen supposed that he believed them. But it hadn't been his idea. Melpomaen had enjoyed being an elfling, when his mother had been alive, and he'd been allowed to be an elfling. As Erestor lit a bedside lamp and pulled the the curtains so that Melpomaen could walk the path of dreams in the cinnamon-scented, restful semi-darkness, Melpomaen's mind followed a winding path back to his early childhood. To an overcast fall day, the Lasse-lanta of his fourteenth year. 

"Sleep well, my beloved son." Erestor whispered into the quiet darkness. But Melpomaen was already far distant, in his dreams. 

 

T.A. 134, in Lindon, at a small park near the sea: 

"At the beginning of the Third Age," the beautiful voice of Solorara Turchalloniel lilted sadly in Melpomaen's dreams, "Great and beautiful Lindon became a city of ghosts." 

"Of ghosts," Agreed the accented, amused voice of Siana Afoniel, trying to cheer her mistress and best-friend since elflinghood, "And of beasts as well, this day, at least." 

Solora laughed, because on Lasse-Lanta (the festival of the fall, in the language of her people, the Noldor who bided in Lindon), her dearest friend's people, the Laiquendi (or woods-elves) celebrated the season by dressing up in costumes. And this year, the elflings looked quite fierce indeed. 

The two ellith watched from a park bench as in the small park, a wolf and a great-spotted-cat joined forces to pounce a bear. 

"Grrowwlll," said the wolf, timing his swift pace as he ran around the park to coincide perfectly with the end part of the cheetah-cat's slide across the grass. 

"Arrrr-grrr!" yelled the bear, surprised by the joint attack into flying across the grass into a soft pile of woodchips, placed on the ground so that elflings and human children would not hurt themselves whilst climbing and playing on the ropes and climbing equipment. 

"Arooo!" Called the cheetah in triumph, as the bear made a face at her. 

Then the bear started laughing, because the cheetah pounced him again. "Come, Wolf!" The Cheetah called, "Now we must complete our triumph, by tickling Bear until he pleads mercy!" 

The Wolf obediently loped over to join the Cheetah with an excited grin, although he did think that this wasn't quite what beasts did in the wild. Of course, they weren't really beasts, the wolf reflected. They were just elflings and children, pretending to be beasts. 

"Elina...hahaha," the bear pleaded, "haha...Melpomaen...hahaha! Stop! Haha! I'm going to pee myself!" 

Melpomaen the wolf stopped tickling Bevan-the-Bear immediately. That sounded gross and awful, and he didn't want the other little ellon to have to change out of his splendid bear costume. 

Elina-the-Cheetah paused. Bevan hadn't said mercy, so he might later say he'd won again, but she didn't want him to pee on her...

"Don't stop!" Cheered a feminine voice from the swings, "He hasn't said 'Mercy' yet! Come on, little brother, play the game right!" 

Elina grinned, and started tickling again. Melpomaen more hesitantly followed her lead. Bevan tended to boss him around when he played with Siana's family, and if Bevan's older sister Meinwen said it was alright, then it was alright. 

"Hahaha!" Bevan laughed, gasping finally, "Mercy! You win!" 

Melpomaen shared a grin of triumph with Elina, as Meinwen jumped gracefully off the swings, her blond plaited braids swinging, and offered her younger brother a hand up. 

"Stinky sister," Bevan complained, "Always helping the littles." 

"Bothersome brother," mocked Meinwen gently back, "Covered in wood chips." 

Bevan growled again as he noticed that brown-bear-fur he wore was indeed liberally speckled with woodchips. 

"Here," offered Melpomaen, "You can use this pine branch to brush yourself off. You're still the champion, as you pounced us lots of times." 

Bevan smiled at Melpomaen and Elina. "Thanks, little Mel." Bevan said quietly, as he reached out a hand to ruffle Melpomaen's dark-brown hair. Melpomaen ducked his head shyly. 

Elina made a rude noise, telling Bevan, "Yes, well, we caught you the best. You flew through the air really far." 

Bevan opened his mouth, but before he could say something inadvisable, his sister Meinwen smacked his bottom briskly in the guise of cleaning the wood chips off of his brown bear fur. 

"Ah, there you are, little brother, all clean." Meinwen said with a warning in her voice. "And perhaps you've all had enough racing around and tackling today." 

Shifting nervously, Melpomaen rearranged his wolf head to cover up a scrape on the side of his head. When he got hurt wrestling around with Siana's kin, his father always got mad and said that he couldn't play with them anymore. Melpomaen's mother Solara explained that his father Edrahil had been taught something kind've wrong by his own parents, that other elves were lesser because they had less money, or worked as servants, or had parents from different places. 

"It is not right of your father, ammelda yonya." Solora had told Melpomaen as she cuddled him in his lap, after convincing her husband Edrahil not to press assault charges against Siana's little cousins for bruising Melpomaen's shin, or something else equally ridiculous. "But your Atar grew up listening to his Atar, who was a prejudiced old goat." 

Melpomaen frowned. "A...a goat? Really, Amme? Does that make me...part-goat? Will I become prejudiced as I grow older?" Melpomaen had seen portraits of Anatar Maltalunte, his father Edrahil's father, and he didn't look like a goat. But in some of them, he had a peculiar, rather sour expression on his face. Melpomaen didn't want to look like that, when he got older. 

Laughing gently, Solora picked Melpomaen up and swung him around and around in her arms, making him giggle. 

"No, my little seal pup." Solara told her son as she settled him back in his blankets. "Forgive me, yonya, I did not explain clearly. What I meant was, your father listened to his Atar, who wasn't actually a goat but did think bad things about certain people for no good reason. And just as you respect your Atar and I, and try to do as we say, your Atar respected his Atar, and follows his words even though some of them were foolish. And I cannot - and you cannot - well, no one can, convince your Atar that your Anatar was wrong." 

"Melpomaen?" Teenaged Meinwen inquired, with a worried look on her face, "Didn't you hear me?" 

Melpomaen shook his head, and brought his thoughts back to the park and the other elflings. Seventh day and holidays like Lasse-lanta were the only times that Melpomaen got to play with other elflings and human children like Elina. Other days, he was in lessons, or following his father and mother around their ship building business. 

"I said that my friend Gollaeron has offered to take us all out for a ride on his father's boat." Meinwen repeated patiently for Melpomaen. 

Melpomaen's face brightened. He loved sailing, and Gollaeron's father owned one of the fastest of the small fishing ships in the harbor, the special ones that could be used to sail far up the rivers. Melpomaen's mother Solora had helped to design it. 

Bevan's face gleamed with mischief. "Meinwen LOVES Gollaeron. She lets him hold her hand and her face turns red." 

"Bevan! Hush!" Meinwen commanded, blushing. 

Her brother danced around her, teasing in a sing-song voice, "You LOVE him. Are you going to MARRY him?" 

Ignoring the not unusual by-play between his beloved Siana's young cousins, Melpomaen loped over to his mother. "May I go, Amme?" Melpomaen asked her excitedly. "Please?" 

Solara looked to the sky, covered with clouds, and frowned pensively. Standing up, a tall, slender figure in her high-collared dark-browned dress, midnight-black hair streaming behind her, Solora felt the wind, and listened to the waves, just visible and clearly audible from the park near the sea, closest to Siana's cousins' homes. "It seems the serious storms will pass us over," she told pale-blond Meinwen with a smile, "and a little rain will not hurt any of you. As to whether Melpomaen may go with you," Siana looked to the waterclock which served as a fountain in the garden, which had been donated by their family. Noting the time with a wince, Solora commanded the oldest of Siana's young cousins. "Just once around the harbor and then back, Meinwen. We need to be leaving soon." 

Melpomaen had a wonderful time out on the water with Meinwen and Gollaeron and the other elflings. Elina's brother Beren came with them, and told them scary stories of haunted ships and mermaids who lured ellyn and human men to their dooms. 

"Girls and ellith are immune," Elina told them officiously, "Mermaids can't tempt us, because we're not suspicious to them." 

"Susceptible," corrected Meinwen kindly.

"And all of that is nonsense, anyway." Gollaeron told the younger elflings, his arm around the blushing Meinwen's shoulders. 

Melpomaen still felt a little shiver. Mermaids and ghost ships may be nonsense, but elves really died, at sea. He knew that his father really worried about his mother, when she went out on the maiden voyage of all of their shipyard's new ships. Solora said that it was important to stand behind her product, and Melpomaen knew his father must have agreed. Othewise, Edrahil would never permit his wife to do something so potentially dangerous. 

When Gollaeron lashed his ship back to the pier, Melpomaen's mother and Siana were waiting for him, with all of Melpomaen's toys and the picnic blankets packed up. With them stood Drystan the hunter, who was Siana's "friend." He was the one who had killed the wolf that Solora had paid a seamstress to make into Melpomaen's wolf costume. 

"Time to go home, yonya." Solora told Melpomaen, holding out his brown cloak with its silver-ship clasp. 

"Please, can I be a wolf a little longer, Amme?" Melpomaen pleaded. "Please, just for the walk home?" 

Solora paused to think, and then nodded. "Very well, sweetheart. But we have to change you back into your clothes at Siana's house, as your Atar might not recognize you as a wolf." 

So the three elves and an elfling dressed as a wolf left the park, calling out farewells to Siana's family. Solora and Siana had grown up together. Siana's father Afon had been a groom and then stablemaster for Solora's father Turchallon, a Captain in Aran Ereinion's navy. Turchallon and his wife were Falathrim, the elves of the shore. Their ancestors, except for a mysterious grandfather on Solora's mother's side during the War of Wrath, had been Lord Cirdan's folk since before the sun first rose. 

Still, Turchallon's only daughter Solorara (who called herself 'Solora' because, she said, it sounded prettier), had been a free spirit. And Turchallon's wife had been apt to let her daughter befriend the child of a servant. Turchallon himself had two sons to raise, and train to the sea. He'd quickly learned that when his spirited daughter was set on something, it was harder to change her mind than the tide. So Solora had spent many happy days in the poor-but-friendly neighborhood of Siana's wood-elf kin. They had come to Lindon during the troubled times of the War between the Men and Elves and Sauron during the middle of the Second Age, and had never left. They missed their trees, and so they planted small groves of oak and pine in the parks near the sea. 

Now dark-haired, dark-eyed Solara in her brown woolen dress with light blue embroidery, and light-haired, blue-eyed Siana, in her light-blue dress with pale brown embroidery, were arm in arm, chattering away like sisters as they walked through the mostly empty streets of shore-side Lindon. 

"I am not sure that a great-spotted-cat and a wolf had ever before thusly joined forces to face a bear," Siana noted with amusement, "However, it was quite the show." Siana loved Solara's only child Melpomaen, and made no bones about it. 

"Aye." Agreed Solara, the brisk autumn wind of the water bringing attractive color to her pale cheeks, and her love for her son making her dark eyes sparkle as she observed, "Our Melpomaen is quite the courageous wolfling, today." 

Melpomaen-the-wolfling ran ahead, stopping whenever one of the adults whistled to him that he'd gone too far. Then he would race back to them, jumping and mock-growling when he got close. His mother and Siana would pretend to be afraid, and then Melpomaen would reveal himself as being really a boy, and they would sigh with relief. It was a very good game, until Melpomaen ran up one street, and got lost. He couldn't see his Amme, or Siana, or Drystan. And there was an elf coming toward him with a sneer on his face, as if he thought that little ellyn who dressed in wolf costumes should be treated like wolves.


	18. Memory's Ghosts Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen continues to dream, this time of a scary adventure he once had in Lindon. Drystan to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from the end of Part II: 
> 
> "Melpomaen-the-wolfling ran ahead, stopping whenever one of the adults whistled to him that he'd gone too far. Then he would race back to them, jumping and mock-growling when he got close. His mother and Siana would pretend to be afraid, and then Melpomaen would reveal himself as being really a boy, and they would sigh with relief. It was a very good game, until Melpomaen ran up one street, and got lost. He couldn't see his Amme, or Siana, or Drystan. And there was an elf coming toward him with a sneer on his face, as if he thought that little ellyn who dressed in wolf costumes should be treated like wolves. "
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> "Life began with waking up and loving my mother's face."   
> \- George Eliot

The dark-haired, elegantly clad elf didn't seem the type of being to be scared of. Not like the pictures Melpomaen had seen of bandits and wild men, in his books. He actually seemed more the type whom Melpomaen might normally meet at one of his Father's dinners, only his clothing was even finer. But poorly kempt, somehow, as were his nails and hair. And he had a stick, a cane. He was swinging at Melpomaen, as he yelled, "Riff-raff and their spawn! Begone from here, child of barbarians!" 

Melpomaen stumbled back, avoiding the blow from the cane by a hair's breadth, and falling on his bottom. Thinking that the strange elf might be confused, and perhaps believe that he was really a wolf, Melpomaen pulled back his wolf hood. He meant to cry out for the elf please not to hurt him, but the words got stuck in his throat. 

The angry elf stumbled at missing his blow. Snarling, he reached back, aiming for Melpomaen again with his stick as he hissed, "I'll teach you to come into a fine neighborhood where you don't belong, little worm!" 

Melpomaen let out an incoherent wail of fright, but he didn't freeze completely. He scooted blindly backwards, trying to keep himself away. Normally, he listened to adults, whether they were his parents, or their friends, or servants, or Siana's cousins. But this adult elf didn't seem...quite right, to Melpomaen. 

To his horror, Melpomaen's back ran into a hard surface, a wall. He couldn't escape, so he threw his hands over his face, trying to brace himself. He knew that the stick would hurt when the strange elf hit him with it, like it had hurt when Bevan was trying to hit a ball with a stick and had accidentally hurt Melpomaen. Only this mean, spittle-strewing elf was much bigger than Bevan, even if he didn't move so fast. 

Only the stick never hit Melpomaen. If he hadn't been covering his eyes with his hands, he would have seen Drystan knock the stick away with his arm, while at the same time scooping Melpomaen into his arms and half-rolling, half-leaping, out of the way. 

All Melpomaen knew, was that one second he was huddled up against a wall about to be hit by a stick, and the next he was in Drystan's arms, held tight against the hunter's leather tunic. 

Drystan smelled of the woods, but not in a bad way, like Melpomaen's father always said he did. Just a green smell, with a tinge of good-smelling smoke as if from a cooking fire. Or maybe Drystan smelled a little bit like Siana, which made Melpomaen frown. Melpomaen liked Drystan, and was very grateful to the hunter for saving him just now. But Melpomaen worried a bit about Drystan marrying Siana, because Mel knew that his mother worried. Melpomaen had heard her talking to some of Siana's kinswomen, about how none of them really knew very much about Drystan. And Melpomaen's father said that Drystan was a good-for-nothing lay-about drunk, and Melpomaen's father was perceptive and smart about most things. But maybe not Drystan - he'd always been nice to Melpomaen, and to Siana, so far as Melpomaen had ever seen. 

"Are you hurt, Melpomaen?" Drystan inquired urgently. 

Melpomaen still couldn't find his words, so he just shook his head. 

"Get the little rat out of here, and begone yourself! This is no place for you vagrants!" The angry elf commanded querulously, his red-shot eyes peering at Drystan, and then seeming to recognize him. 

Drystan at first acted as if he hadn't even heard the well-dressed elf. Instead, Drystan just held Melpomaen against him with one arm, while the hunter's other hand moved with gentle pressure over Melpomaen's cloaked body. It felt weird, but Drystan had done it once before, when Melpomaen fell out of the tree house in their garden. Melpomaen had been crying too hard to talk, once the immediate shock wore off. Drystan had explained that he had been checking Mel for hidden injuries. Melpomaen figured that he was doing the same thing now, so Melpomaen stayed quiet, trying not to squirm. 

Once Drystan had finished the examination, his head turned to regard Melpomaen's assailant. 

"The elfling is Melpomaen, son of Edrahil and Solorara, the shipwrights." Drystan quietly told the mean elf, although Melpomaen could feel the hunter's heart beating fast, and feel his muscles thrumming with emotion. Melpomaen thought it was probably anger, under the quiet voice. Melpomaen would be angry right now too, if he weren't so scared. But Melpomaen still worried about Siana, who was betrothed to an elf who could keep all of that anger inside and talk softly. Melpomaen's father yelled when he was angry, so Melpomaen knew to make himself scarce. Melpomaen didn't like yelling, and an Atar in a temper was one more likely to pick fault, and sometimes give Melpomaen a really hard smacking for really small mistakes. Melpomaen's Amme didn't like it, but she normally knew how to deal with Atar, when he was in a temper. And if Solora was there, Melpomaen just had to reach her, and she would take care of everything. If Solora wasn't there, well, Melpomaen's Atar always felt bad after yelling and smacking, and he would usually come and spend time just with Melpomaen, teaching him of business matters. It was almost nice enough to make up for the yelling and smacking. 

"Hmmph." The mean stranger elf snorted, "Jumped-up merchant riff-raff. It sickens me that so little is left of Lindon, that such money-grubbing filth are considered the equal of high blood."   
"I will take the child away, Lord Tellaman. But you should see a healer. You do not seem well." Drystan replied, his voice still level. 

Tellaman snarled again, lifting his stick. Drystan just stood straight, unafraid. Melpomaen hid his face against Drystan's shoulder. Melpomaen just wanted to be back with his mother. He didn't feel like a brave wolfling anymore, he felt like he'd ruined everything. 

At last, Tellaman put his stick down. Melpomaen knew, even though he wasn't looking, because he heard the click of it against the stone street. "Don't come back." Tellaman warned Drystan, "Your master isn't here anymore, to throw you scraps from his table. And there are precious few ellith left, with hearts to break." 

Surprised, Melpomaen turned to look at the angry elf, but Tellaman was walking away. 

Drystan hefted Melpomaen more securely against him, and half-turned to leave. But he kept his eyes on the entrances to Tellaman's house, so Melpomaen did, too. A single servant came out, to help the Lord. Melpomaen knew that Lords were important elves, and that he must try to be nice to them, because their good will was important to his father's business. So despite all the mean things that the elf had said, Melpomaen called out, in his piping elfling's voice, "I hope that you feel better, Lord Tellaman." 

Lord Tellaman turned back around, but he seemed tired now, more than angry. "You, ship-wright's elfling." He commanded Melpomaen, "Don't wander where you don't belong, particularly not looking like a barbarian wood-elf." 

Melpomaen blushed, and nodded. He still didn't think that it mattered so much, that he looked like a wood-elf in his costume. But Melpomaen realized that he probably should have been paying closer attention to where he was going, and to where his mother was. He'd just been having so much fun that he forgot, but now Melpomaen felt quite guilty for that. 

"You." Lord Tellaman addressed his last comment to Drystan, and his voice was lifeless, almost dead. As if the sheer act of living was too much work, Tellaman said with bitter exhaustion, "You should have died with your master." 

Melpomaen felt Drystan become utterly still, at that. Scared, Melpomaen patted the ghost-pale hunter's shoulder. 

"I wished that I had, for a long time." Drystan told Lord Tellaman in a tight voice, but one that was alive with pain and more underneath. Again, Drystan told the Lord, "You should see a healer, Lord Tellaman. Or else sail." 

"Begone before I forget that you saved my son's life once." Tellaman told Drystan, and his eyes had gone all mean again. Melpomaen tugged on Drystan's sleeve. 

"He's a lord, and this is the street in front of his house." Melpomaen helpfully informed Drystan, "Maybe we should do what he says." 

"Oh, so now you're all concerned about what we should do, little Master Melpomaen." Drystan scolded the elfling in his arms, although Melpomaen noted with relief that Drystan was walking away as he continued to lecture, "Where was that concern when your mother told you not to run so far ahead, and to pay attention to where you were going, hmm? You must have taken at least two wrong turns, to get here." 

Melpomaen's eyes filled with guilt. "I'm sorry that you got yelled at by that Lord. I didn't mean to go so far, or get lost." He offered. 

Drystan murmured something about Melpomaen being as absented-minded as a King's friend and as contrary as a half-elf, but Melpomaen didn't really understand it. Melpomaen figured that it must be rhetorical, like a lot of the things his father said. 

Melpomaen had to hold his mother's hand the rest of the way home, and then she took him to his bedroom to nap. Usually, she let him stay with her, in her study while she worked on her drafting. He would fall asleep reading his books on the settee, to the soft sound of his mother's charcoal moving across parchment. And he woke up gently, to the sound of her voice wondering about dimensions of timbers and tensile strength. And to the smell of her perfume, mostly vanilla with a hint of cinnamon. 

But not today. Today he was in trouble. 

"How many times have I told you to pay attention, and not to run too far ahead?" Solora scolded. 

"Many times. Sorry, Amme." Melpomaen replied miserably. 

With a soft sigh, Solora pulled her small son into her lap. "I know that you don't mean to misbehave, yonya. And I know that you are a young elfling yet. Many lapses may be excused for that reason, even though they are more upsetting that they should be to your father. But I will not stand for you putting yourself at risk, through absent-mindedness or otherwise. I love you too much to lose you." 

Melpomaen swallowed nervously. He knew what that meant. "I understand, Amme." He whispered. 

"That's my brave elfling." Solora murmured reassuringly. 

Melpomaen felt anything but brave as he was helped into position over his mother's knee. She stroked his shoulder-length hair in its child's braids gently, whispering that she loved him, and would never cause him pain but to help him remember to be more careful and grow up safe and well. Then she patted his bare bottom once in warning, before bringing her slender hand down in a series of sharp smacks. 

Melpomaen wriggled and yelped, kicking his little feet in protest. Such antics bothered his father, but his mother didn't mind that Melpomaen cried out or moved a little, as long as he didn't try to stop her from a punishment that he'd earned. Soon enough, tears came to Melpomaen's eyes, but they were more tears of guilt than pain. It hurt, but his mother hadn't smacked him more than a dozen or so times. Then she righted his clothing and pulled him carefully into his arms. 

Melpomaen cried for a few moments, but soon his tears stilled as his mother sang lullabyes, about how she loved him more than the waves loved the shore. His bottom stung hotly all over, but it didn't blaze with searing pain, not the way he felt after his father took a ruler to him. Melpomaen fell asleep in his mother's lap in his bedroom. But when he woke up, he was on the settee in her office, with her drawing and writing at her desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what you think, but either way, thank you so much for reading!


	19. Memory's Ghosts Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his dream, Melpomaen asks an impertinent question, and gets a real answer. Then he watches his parents get ready for the party at the Protector's Palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from Part III: 
> 
> "Melpomaen cried for a few moments, but soon his tears stilled as his mother sang lullabyes, about how she loved him more than the waves loved the shore. His bottom stung hotly all over, but it didn't blaze with searing pain, not the way he felt after his father took a ruler to him. Melpomaen fell asleep in his mother's lap in his bedroom. But when he woke up, he was on the settee in her office, with her drawing and writing at her desk." 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> "Prejudice comes from being in the dark; sunlight disinfects it." ~ Muhammad Ali

Fourteen year old Melpomaen pushed aside the soft blanket, and went to sit in his mother's lap. Solora took a break from her work, and helped Melpomaen to draw a picture of himself and the other elflings in Gollaeron's boat, to give to Gollaeron that night at the Lord Protector's party as a thank-you present. Then Solora gave him books to read while she went back to her work. 

When Melpomaen had tired of reading, he got permission to go down to the kitchens and help Siana finish the baking. They were planning to take treats to the Sea House, with some extras for Drystan to take to the long-term residents wing of the Healing Halls where he worked. There were also sweets and pastries to make, for handing out to elflings and human children who came calling for Lasse-lanta (which the human children called something else, but Melpomaen didn't remember it, and he didn't have to because his father would never expect him to know that, or even want him to). 

"You may go, my elfling." Solora told him with a faint, distracted smile, before her expression became more stern, "But walk to the kitchens like a proper young elf, Melpomaen, do not run. And be sure to STAY WITH Siana and Drystan when you go to take sweets and rolls to the sea house. No more day-dreaming and getting lost while you run ahead." 

"Yes, Amme." Melpomaen agreed with a blush, before walking (quickly, but it was still not running), to the kitchens. He spent an agreeable hour or so helping Siana to finish baking biscuits and sweet rolls. Drystan was there, too, and he and Siana were laughing and making googly eyes at oneanother when Melpomaen first arrived. Melpomaen was a little jealous, but both elves greeted him happily, and Drystan got Melpomaen a chair so that he could stand up high enough to help add ingredients and stir. 

At one point, the batter was just too tempting for Melpomaen. He poured out most of it into the pan for baking, then he just had to scrape his finger along the side of the bowl, and taste it. 

"Yum." Melpomaen said very softly, but evidently not quietly enough, as the next thing he felt was the stinging smack of Siana's wooden spoon against his bottom. 

"Ouch!" Melpomaen yelped, giving Siana a guilty look. 

"Serves you right, my Melpomaen, taste testing without a spoon. Come here, and wash your hands. THEN you can have a proper taste, on a spoon." Siana scolded with fond exasperation. 

Drystan winked at Melpomaen, dipping his own finger into the mixing bowl as Siana was busy finding Melpomaen a spoon. Siana seemed to have eyes in the back of her head, though, because she saw what Drystan was doing, and gave him three smacks with the spoon. 

"Ai, Sia!" The hunter protested, and Siana had to smile, although Melpomaen could tell that she was frustrated. 

"That was your second warning," Siana scolded her betrothed, "And you are older than Melpomaen, although both of you should know better." 

They finished the baking without further incident, and Melpomaen helped Siana and Drystan to take a huge basket of delicious things to the sea house. It was a big house on the other end of the harbor, where widows and orphans and the poor could live and have food everyday, in exchange for helping with duties in Lindon that Lord Protector Endeyaro needed extra help with. Normally, Melpomaen's mother Solora would go with them to the sea house, but today she was bustling in and out of her study at home, and Melpomaen's parents' offices by the harbor. Melpomaen knew that the ship his parents and their staff were working on now was a really important one, meant to sail all the way to Gondor. 

On the way back from the sea house, they stopped at Siana's house, so that she could make arrangements for a friend to hand out sweets while she handed out sweets at Melpomaen's parents house. Melpomaen got to play on the treehouse that Siana had built for her cousin Meinwen, when Meinwen had been a little elfling. Drystan kept an eye on Melpomaen, busying himself by weaving some kind of net while Melpomaen played and climbed. After a while, Melpomaen came and sat down next to Drystan. 

"Would you like to learn how to catch a grouse, elfling?" Drystan asked pleasantly. 

"Maybe," Melpomaen replied, not quite sure what a grouse was. "Actually, I want to ask you a question. But it's rude, and I don't want to be rude. Especially not since you're an adult, and you've always been kind and polite to me." 

Drystan gave Melpomaen a long considering look, before putting down his net. "I'm not easily offended, Melpomaen. Go ahead, and ask your little rude question. I understand that you do not mean to be disrespectful." The hunter invited, a politely neutral expression on his face. 

Melpomaen nodded, relieved, and then swallowed nervously as he considered the incredible temerity of what he was about to ask. "Are you going to keep being good for my Siana, after you marry her, Drystan?" He finally managed, "You always seem nice to her, but sometimes....people seem nice when they aren't really. And Amme and I love Siana, and we don't want Siana to be hurt. Not by anybody, ever." Melpomaen paused, glad that Drystan hadn't started yelling. In fact, Drystan's pale blue eyes were troubled, but not angry at all. Melpomaen's conscience prompted him to add, "Amme didn't know that I was going to ask you this. I don't think she'd like it that I did." 

Drystan shook his head, and then whistled. "You don't pull your punches, do you, elfling?" 

Confused, Melpomaen replied, "I don't punch. It's not polite to hit." 

Chuckling, Drystan explained, "It's a figure of speech, Melpomaen. It's like when you say, "falling in love," you don't actually mean that you fell, just that you weren't in love and now you are. Or like saying that it's as cold outside as a witch's..." 

"Amme says you're not to say that saying," Melpomaen interrupted, "And, I'm sorry to be rude again, but it doesn't answer my question." 

"No, it doesn't." Drystan sighed, brushing his blond hair back from his face with a scarred hand, "The only thing you seem to have inherited from your father is an ability to see through crap." 

Melpomaen winced. He wasn't to say that word, either. 

Drystan continued, "All I can tell you is that I was...very sick, not in my body, but in my head, for a long time. I fought in the war," 

Melpomaen frowned. He didn't think that Siana or his Amme knew that. Surely they would have mentioned it. 

"I saw some awful things," Drystan confessed quietly, "And they made me...well, I was hurting, and I chose to hide from the world by keeping myself drunk. Almost all the time." Drystan paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing, "I did some bad things, when I was drunk. I hit strangers in bars, who hadn't done anything to me but look at me wrong. I got into fights with ellyn in the streets who...well, it doesn't matter what they did or said. I shouldn't have hit them. It's not a good way to solve problems. In any case, I saw Siana one day when I was in town and miraculously sober, and I fell in love with her. That made me want to get well, so I stopped drinking anything that might intoxicate me." 

Swallowing nervously, Melpomaen nodded. "Oh. So you won't do bad things anymore, and you won't hurt her." 

Drystan reached out a gentle hand and ruffled Melpomaen's dark hair, "I wish it was that simple," He told Melpomaen after a moment. In a soft, very thoughtful voice, as if the words were hard to get out, Drystan continued, "I can swear to you by the Valar and...everything else I hold dear, that I love Siana. That I mean to be good to her. That I mean not to drink until the healers tell me they think it is safe. And that if I fail and find myself drunk again, that I mean to go to a friend, not home to Siana. I can tell you that I've never hit a woman or an elleth outside of arms training, because that's true. I doubt that I would start with the elleth I love. But I can't promise never to hurt her, Melpomaen. People who love one another hurt one another sometimes, not physically, but they wound one another's heart and spirit, without meaning to. And I know that I am not perfect." 

Drystan trailed off, while Melpomaen started at him in awe. This was the most words he'd ever heard Drystan string together, in all the handful of years that he'd known the ellon. "So," Melpomaen summarized, "You love Siana. You don't mean to hurt Siana, ever, but you can't promise that you won't because you don't know." 

Drystan patted Melpomaen's shoulder. "I know it's not what you wanted to hear, elfling. But you asked a brave question, an ellon's question. And out of respect for you, I gave you the answer I would give a grown-up, not a blind, meaningless assurance meant to comfort a child's silly fears." 

Melpomaen shook his head, "I'm not brave." After all, when Melpomaen had been confronted by the scary Lord Tellaman and his stick, he'd cowered and hidden his face against Drystan's shoulder. 

Drystan laughed aloud, "Trust me, Melpomaen. You are courageous. I don't know many grown elves with the guts to ask a much taller and better-armed elf his intentions as to a friend, let alone elflings." Sobering, the hunter added, "I want you to promise me something, though. That you will be careful, who you speak to with such courageous honesty. Because not all adults can accept that young ones' have the right to look after the safety of those they love, if it means questioning grown ellyn with the power to harm such presumptuous elflings." 

"I promise." Melpomaen swore, wide-eyed. He'd never really thought that Drystan would hurt him for asking, though he'd known it to be a distant possibility. 

"Please feel free to be honest with me, little Mel." Drystan offered gently, "Just have a care what you say to other grown ellyn, particularly those of your father's station, or higher." 

"Yes, Drystan." Melpomaen agreed. 

"Good elfling." Drystan praised, "Now, I will teach you how to weave a net which, if flown correctly, can catch a grouse in flight." 

Melpomaen watched and listened as Drystan explained the process, and had started working on a piece of the net that he thought Drystan would probably have to redo. Then, Siana came out, and it was time to go home. Melpomaen and his mother went door to door for Lasse-lanta, coming home with a basket full of treats. They had to come home earlier than normal, and they didn't get all the way to the palace, because Melpomaen had to accompany his parents to a party there for the holiday. 

"It is very important that we look our best," Edrahil said, carefully looking Melpomaen over and brushing away an imaginary piece of lint, "This is the first year that our family has been prominent enough to be invited to the Lord Protector's personal Lasse-lanta celebration. We must make a good impression, and you are part of that, Melpomaen." 

Melpomaen nodded, as Solora rushed down the stairs, pulling a blue cloak over her shoulders. "I'm ready. And we're not late yet." 

Edrahil shook his head, although there was warmth in his eyes as he gently chided his wife, "No thanks to you, meldenya." 

The three of them got into their coach, and headed up the stone streets, away from the harbor and towards the palace. As they rode away, Melpomaen could hear the song of the chimes his mother hung on their trees. Some were made of glass, and some were made of crystal. Others were made of all sorts of metals, and some of wood. For Lasse-lanta, Solora, Melpomaen, and Siana made had made chimes out of hollowed gourds. The Lasse-lanta gourd chimes sounded funny, but the purpose of the chimes in general was to let the sailor elves know when the wind picked up to dangerous levels. Melpomaen's mother would wake up some nights when the chimes rang loudly, and rush out to the docks to check on their boats and the sailors who worked for them. Melpomaen always worried for her, when she did. If Melpomaen's father Edrahil wasn't traveling on business, he would go with Solora, and he wouldn't let her go out in the small ships to rescue the sailors from broken up ships herself. And Melpomaen knew that his mother did that sometimes, because Bevan's sister Meinwen said that her friend Gollaeron said that Gollaerons' father Brithaeron said that Solora did. 

"Edrahil," Solora asked her husband, "Could you speak to Master Brithaeron? His son Gollaeron wishes to court a lovely young elleth, but Brithaeron is forbidding it, for foolish reasons." 

"Oh, 'Lara," Edrahil objected with a sigh, "Are you getting yourself involved in things that are none of our business, again?" 

"It is not none of our business!" Solora retorted, stung, "Meinwen is a friend, and a good elleth!" 

"She's one of Siana's Silvan kin, and I wouldn't let her within a mile of Melpomaen, when he's of an age to court. No, Solora, we will not intervene." Edrahil denied, not without compassion. Melpomaen knew that it wasn't that he didn't dislike Siana, in fact he was fond of her. His father had often praised Siana as a competent cook, a respectful member of his staff, and in general an asset to their household. However, Solora had explained that in Edrahil's world view, although individual Silvan elves whom he personally knew were fine people, they were not fit to marry into the fine old Noldor, Falathrim, or even Sindarin families. The Sindar had been wood elves, too, but at least they'd built their own kingdom, instead of living in the trees like savages. Or at least that's what Edrahil said, sometimes. 

"Very well, meldonya." Solora agreed, her brown eyes sparking dark fire, "I will not mention it to you again." 

Melpomaen sat quietly and politely as his parents bickered. He let his attention drift as his parents worried over one of their experimental new ships. Melpomaen was trying to relax before the reception. Edrahil always encouraged Melpomaen to display his scholarship at these type of events. Melapomen's Amme had told them that Lord Cirdan himself would be present, he and his entourage from Mithlond. Melpomaen really didn't want to make a mistake in his recitation of history and answering of factual questions in front of the great Mariner Lord himself. He knew that making such a mistake would disappoint Edrahil, even though his mother would say that of course you have to make mistakes sometimes, that's how you learn. And that Edrahil was lucky to have a son who had the patience and diligence to learn his lessons so well, and the courage to stand up to the questioning of adults. Melpomaen didn't think that Edrahil saw it that way, but often Melpomaen managed to do well enough that even Edrahil was proud of him. He hoped that tonight would be one of those nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope that you enjoyed it! If so, I'd love to hear from you! Thanks.


	20. Memory's Ghosts Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen's dream-memories of his past wander into darker times. Dream and memory blur, as Melpomaen wakes up abruptly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgments: Thanks to Figwit and Holly, who encouraged me to finish this one. Without your support, this story would still be in the list of those I hope to finish someday. 
> 
> A/N: This story is set in T.A. 171. I am using T.A. 120 as Melpomaen's birth year, and giving him a birthday in December, close to Yule. So, Melpomaen is 50 years old, and the twins (who were born in T.A. 129) are 41 years old. In correspondence to human ages, that would make Melpomaen about 21 years old, and the twins almost 18. 
> 
> Excerpt from Part III: 
> 
> "Melpomaen sat quietly and politely as his parents bickered. He let his attention drift as his parents worried over one of their experimental new ships. Melpomaen was trying to relax before the reception. Edrahil always encouraged Melpomaen to display his scholarship at these type of events. Melapomen's Amme had told them that Lord Cirdan himself would be present, he and his entourage from Mithlond. Melpomaen really didn't want to make a mistake in his recitation of history and answering of factual questions in front of the great Mariner Lord himself. He knew that making such a mistake would disappoint Edrahil, even though his mother would say that of course you have to make mistakes sometimes, that's how you learn. And that Edrahil was lucky to have a son who had the patience and diligence to learn his lessons so well, and the courage to stand up to the questioning of adults. Melpomaen didn't think that Edrahil saw it that way, but often Melpomaen managed to do well enough that even Edrahil was proud of him. He hoped that tonight would be one of those nights." 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> "You cannot save people, you can only love them." - The Diary Of Anais Nin, Volume Two (1934-1939)

The Lord Protector's Lasse-Lanta party was the most elegant event Melpomaen had ever seen. Shimmering crystal chandeliers, lit from within, showered golden light across the yellow marble floors. The sea breeze blew in through the ocean-facing windows and porticos, also bringing the scent of fall-blooming flowers from the tiered gardens. 

Beautiful music echoed through the gracious room, and dignified elves dressed in sumptuous clothing danced and socialized. At first Melpomaen was just too overwhelmed by all of the splendor to notice much more, but as they stood waiting in the receiving line to meet the Lord Protector and the great mariner Lord Cirdan, a realization came to him. 

The beautiful building and the graceful room looked sad. They were much too big for the elves who were there, no matter how fancy they were dressed or how gracefully they danced. The golden marble seemed to whisper of loss and longing, like so much of Lindon. Melpomaen's mother sometimes spoke of leaving Lindon for somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't "dwindling," as she described it. But Solora could never leave the sea, and Melpomaen could never imagine himself wanting to leave, either. But he did wonder, for a moment, what it might be like to live in a place that wasn't dwindling. 

His mind was still lost in that thought when he suddenly came face to face with the great Mariner Lord himself. Or at least that's who Melpomaen supposed that this bearded elf must be, who had bent down on one knee to make his acquaintance. 

Melpomaen blinked, his almondine brown eyes still lost in the contemplation that the Gil-Galad's palace was haunted. And looking into the sea-green eyes of Lord Cirdan was like staring into the ocean...depth without end, and all of it knowing. Melpomaen was face-to-face with one of the greatest elven Lords and Heros ever to live, and he'd been thinking bad things about the elf's foster-son's home! How very awful of him! 

"Nay, elfling." Cirdan offered, with a kind, sad smile, "On the contrary, you show yourself to be clever and thoughtful. We are honored to have you here, tonight." Lord Cirdan offered Melpomaen a gaily wrapped basket, with a miniature wooden sailing ship and several toy sailors inside. Melpomaen picked up the ship with a soft "Oh!" of delight. It was a small treasure, a pine-and-cedar caravel. 

"It looks like it will really sail!" Melpomaen admired, "Just like the caravels in the harbor!" He stroked the joints carefully, and raised and lowered the little sails, thinking about how maneuverable the little vessel might be. "I think that it could sail up the coastline handily, although I'd be afraid to swamp it in a fierce enough storm." 

Lord Cirdan chuckled, and so did the other finely dressed elf, who must be the Lord Protector Endeyaro, who now governed the city and surrounds of Lindon in the name of their fallen King. 

"You sound quite the little sailor already." Lord Endeyaro praised Melpomaen. As Melpomaen blushed with surprise and pride, Endeyaro added, "which is not to be wondered at in the son of Edrahil and Solora. You have a long legacy of sailors and ship-builders to live up to, pen neth." 

Melpomaen straightened his shoulders, "I know. I am studying the winds and the tides, and how to build a caravel like this so that it rides safely upon the waves. I hope to make my parents and my ancestors proud of me." 

This was usually the point at which Eldrahil's friends and clients, the merchants and other ship-builders, were like to continue to quiz Melpomaen, or the point when his father would prompt him to further display his knowledge. But to Melpomaen's surprise, the great Lords only suggested that he go and play in the fountains with his new present. 

"This is Gelmir, the nephew of Master Erellont, my castellan." Lord Cirdan gestured to an adolescent elfling behind him, a slender dark-haired, green-eyed youth of about Meinwen's age. "He will accompany you." 

Gelmir nodded politely. Melpomaen got the feeling that elfling-sitting a much younger child really wasn't what Gelmir wanted to do with his night, but Gelmir smiled encouragingly at Melpomaen anyway. 

As he followed the older elfling away towards the terraced gardens, he overheard Lord Cirdan talking to his parents and Gelmir's uncle Erellont. 

"My great-nephews are just a bit younger than your Melpomaen. It is a pity that they live so far away. I think that young Melpomaen might make a good playmate, for them." 

"Our thanks, Lord Cirdan." Melpomaen's father offered, and Melpomaen thought that Edrahil sounded more than a little overwhelmed, even as Edrahil continued, "However, Melpomaen would be more than content to keep us company this night. There is no need to burden young Gelmir with his company." 

"Gelmir is too young to be so serious. It will be good for him to have the chance to play a little longer, instead of dancing attendance on his elders." Melpomaen got the feeling that Cirdan disapproved, of something. Not of Gelmir, but maybe of whoever was in charge of raising Gelmir. It wasn't obvious, but Melpomaen was very sensitive to disapproval. Being alert to that type of thing helped him to stay in his father's good graces. 

Soon enough, Melpomaen found himself watching with joy as his new toy caravel sailed through the fountains. Gelmir even helped him rig a lever of sorts out of fallen branches and leaves, so that the ship could move down from one level of the terraced fountains to another. 

"I've not much interest in sailing." Gelmir explained with an indulgent smile, "But living in Mithlond, in the Shipwright's household, everyone learns a fair bit about ships." 

"What do you like to do?" Asked Melpomaen politely, as he took more toy sailors out of the gift basket and stuck them into his ship. 

"Sing, mostly." Gelmir answered, pulling a shiny pan flute out of his tunic, "And play." To Melpomaen's surprise and delight, Gelmir suited words to action. A cheerful, sprightly melody sang from his pipes, complementing the sound of the waves and the winds and the water, and even the faint strains of the more formal music in the hall. 

"Wow!" Melpomaen complemented, "You're really good!" 

Gelmir grinned, "Thank you." The next hour or so passed congenially. Gelmir played his flute, and then a borrowed lute that one of the musicians lent to him. Melpomaen had never heard most of his songs before. He wondered if maybe Gelmir might have made them up himself. Melpomaen played with his ship, and watched with interest as his mother and father spoke to many important elves, both in the hall and out in the garden. He wondered what his mother might have said to Harbor Master Bellaeron, or to the great Lord Cirdan, but Solora seemed happy after each conversation, so he supposed it couldn't be too bad. Solora came by to check on Melpomaen after that, so he got to show her and some of his father's friends' wives his ship and the little sailors. Gelmir paused to greet them and converse politely, and then went back to his music after they departed for the brightly lit hall. 

Then disaster struck. The wind picked up, and Melpomaen's ship sailed off of the side of the fountain. Melpomaen jumped down the terrace level to save it, Gelmir belatedly running after him. 

Melpomaen found his ship unharmed in the lee of a lower fountain. It had washed up beside a statue of a an elf in sailor's clothing holding a sword. The name at the base of the statue identified the warrior as Lendahyel, so Melpomaen crawled up to have a closer look, since that was Drystan's father-name. 

"Melpomaen, get down from there!" Gelmir called up to him, a bit annoyed, "Those bricks look loose, and...." 

The bricks were loose. Melpomaen slipped when one came loose, and fell. He wasn't hurt, but he'd accidentally started a mini-avalanche of dirt. It uprooted a hydrangea bush, which fell into another fountain, showering a group of young ellith in dirt and water. Melpomaen stared on in horror. His parents were going to be disappointed, and his father was going to be so angry. 

"Hide." Gelmir commanded, shoving Melpomaen behind the statue. He took the blame for the accident, apologizing profusely to the offended ladies. Unfortunately, one of them knew his father. Who made Melpomaen's father seem the doting fool. 

Melpomaen watched with frightened guilt as Falathar coldly excused himself and his son, and Gelmir followed his father in the direction of the wing set aside for the use of Lord Cirdan and his staff. Screwing up all of his courage, Melpomaen straightened his spine and went after them. He couldn't let Gelmir take the blame when this was his fault. 

But it took him awhile to find where Falathar and Gelmir had gone. Eventually, a pretty young maid pointed him towards Master Erellont's office. 

The door was closed, but Melpomaen made himself knock and then open it when Gelmir tentatively called out, thinking that Melpomaen was his father.

To Melpomaen's surprise, Gelmir was alone in the room. His fine leggings had been pulled down to his knees, and his tunic seemed loose, although it still covered him modestly enough. He had evidently been in he corner, although he'd turned around at the knock on the door and was hastily righting his clothing. 

Wild-eyed, Gelmir accused, "What are you DOING here?" 

"I...I...I came to tell your Atar that it was my fault. The mess was, I mean, and getting those ladies wet." 

"Eru preserve me from idiot elflings." Gelmir muttered, and then he snarled, "I'm doing you a favor. You can thank me by going away and NEVER MENTIONING IT." 

"Ye...yes, but, I don't want you to get in trouble..." Melpomaen stuttered. 

"I'm already in trouble, fool." Gelmir retorted, "And I would still be even if..." Gelmir cut himself off aprubltly at the sound of his father's voice down the hall, commanding the maid to go and summon a gardener to clean the lower terrace in the garden. Gelmir's eyes widened with panic. He moved unbelievably fast, picking up Melpomaen and practically throwing him into the closet. It was stuffy and smelled of parchment and ink. 

"Father?" 

All Melpomaen could hear was the snick of a belt being removed from someone's waist. He curled into a ball on the dusty closet floor and tried to breathe softly, pretending that he was a mouse and Gelmir's father a mean old cat. 

"It seems that you can do nothing right today, Gelmir." Falathar's cold, precise tone cut through the room. "I asked you to stay in the corner, bottom bared. As is proper to enable you to contemplate how cruelly you have shamed yourself and your family this evening. Instead I find you in the middle of the room, looking as if you might compound your failings by bolting like a coward."

"Yes, Atar. I mean, no, Atar." Gelmir answered, his voice frightened but steady, "Someone came to knock at the door, and I know that you would not wish anyone to know of matters which are between you and I." 

Falathar didn't even pause, "The only individual in the hall way was that simpleton of a maid. You have no excuse for your behavior, or for your failure to meet my expectations. And you will pay dearly for both." 

Melpomaen heard the soft sounds of clothing being adjusted. Then the ominous swish of a belt through the air, and the sickening crack of the belt meeting flesh. Once, twice, a dozen times. And then five more times, a sharper crack. As if Falathar was apply his belt to Gelmir's back instead of his bottom. During the belting, Gelmir gasped, then cried out in pain. As the sound of the belt changed, he keened heartbreakingly. 

Melpomaen curled more tightly into a ball, wishing that he had never come to find them and try to apologize. Wishing even more that he'd listened to Gelmir, and had not gone scrambling up to get a better look at the statue. 

Gelmir sobbed softly. Melpomaen heard the faint sound of clothing being replaced, and then Falathar's voice again. Less cold, but still...mean. Unfeeling, somehow. As if his son's pain wasn't as important as his social standing. 

"I know that you can do better, Gelmir." His father said, "But you must leave aside the foolish notions of childhood. Your dreams of becoming a minstrel are perhaps the most pernicious of them. How can our family be taken seriously, gain the renown and status which we deserve and have long been denied, when your dream is to be a penniless wanderer? How could you do this, to me? To your long-suffering Anamille?" 

"Yes, Atar, sir." Gelmir answered miserably. 

"Very well. Take a few moments to regain your composure, then return to the main hall. Since Lord Cirdan indulges your foolish youthful fantasies, he has asked that you sing with the bards. You will not disappoint him." 

"No, Sir." Gelmir's voice was steadier, now. Determined. 

Melpomaen heard the sound of Falathar's footsteps leaving the room, but before he could gather up the courage to face Gelmir and leave the room, he heard another elf enter. 

"Ai, nephew." Said a softer, kinder voice. Master Erellont's. "I am sorry that the night has not treated you kindly. But you know that my brother only acts as he does because he loves you, and he believes in your promise?" 

"Yes, Uncle. I understand." A pause. "You and father, you won't tell Grandmother, will you? About tonight, I mean. Please?" 

Erellont sighed. "I will not. But I cannot speak for your father. I know that you must stay with her again this summer when Falathar and I travel with our Lord. She can be....very stern. But you must understand, it was the way in which your father and I, and our fallen brother Aerandir, were all raised. Mother named us after the mariners, in hopes that we would live up to their renown in the eyes of our Lord. Your cousin Thalion may have been spoiled by his foster-parents the King and Queen of the Greenwood, but the discipline and the expectations to which you are subject to are no different than those to which your father and I were subject, while growing up in your Anamille Mistress Ambilvane's household. Falathar is your father, and you must obey him and strive not to disappoint him."

"Yes, Uncle." Gelmir agreed, obediently but dully. Then followed the sound of water being poured onto a towel, and not long after that the sounds of Gelmir and Erellont departing. 

When Melpomaen eventually emerged from the closet he was trembling. He managed to make his way back to the garden. His mother found him there, sitting beside his discarded ship. 

"I'm glad that you've been having fun, my darling little ellon." Solora told him, as she swept his ship and his toys back into their gift basket, and picked Melpomaen up into her arms. Solora was heedless of the dirt on his heels as she carried him back to the hall. 

"Its time now to attend on the final songs and ceremonies of the night, and then we can depart. Your father will stay, to make more connections." 

Held safe in his mother's arms, Melpoamen listened to Gelmir and the bards. Gelmir sang, and it sounded like liquid gold. His voice was amazing. The other bards must have recognized his talent, as they clearly let him take solos at the right times to best show off his young, partly-trained voice. Near the end, they performed a simple song, just lute and flutes and a single tenor, which had been composed by Gelmir. Falathar frowned, and Erellont appeared worried, but Cirdan nodded with approval. 

As Melpomaen and his mother left the brightly lit hall that night, his eyes met Gelmir's for just one moment. 

"Do not ever tell." Gelmir mouthed, silently but fiercely. Melpomaen nodded. He wouldn't ever tell anyone Gelmir might know. He might tell his mother, he would, in fact. But later. After Lord Cirdan's delegation had left to return to Mithlond. After Melpomaen had time to reconcile the frightening, sad events which he had inadvertently put into motion, within his own mind. 

Melpomaen never had the opportunity to talk to his mother about the upsetting events of that Lasse-lanta. The following day, his mother was busy at the harbor with the prototype ship, and his father left to pursue some new contracts he'd discussed with elves at the Protector's party. All Melpomaen would remember of that night, later, was the chimes ringing wildly in the trees, and his mother kissing him before going out to check on the ship. 

Melpomaen's childhood ended that day. His father Edrahil spent months lost in his own grief, taking little to notice of his son. The time after that was almost worse. Edrahil's heart had died with his wife. He went from stern and demanding to much, much worse. And as Melpomaen grew, his father grew more demanding, less patient, more angry. Some of the elves on the staff of Edrahil's shipbuilding business were far worse. Melpomaen began his apprenticeship there early, when he was just forty (the equivalent of a human sixteen years of age). Melpomaen endured his father's belt frequently for his perceived failings. Edrahil was impossible to satisfy. But Melpomaen never stopped trying. It became a point of stubborn pride, for him. Edrahil and his foreman Lotulcun and business manager Marrilyon, they could punish Melpomaen. But they couldn't make him give up. Melpomaen made their standards his standards, and did his best to do the impossible. When he failed, they might strap him, beat him, berate him, deprive him of food, make him stay up all hours to fix his mistakes. But no one could make him give up; no one could blame himself for failing more than he did. It gave him a control, a pride of sorts, that they couldn't take away from him. That, and Melpomaen never forgot that his mother had loved him. 

Still, Edrahil, Lotulcun, and Marillyon, between them, managed to make Melpomaen's life quite miserable. They ruined his early love of the sea, and frequently left him in so much pain, physical and emotional, that it was hard for him to function in his lessons and other daily activities. Frequently, he had actually done something which merited punishment. He was tired, and inexperienced, and he made mistakes. Including mistakes that cost his father's business time and money to correct. Lotulcun made sure that Melpomaen paid dearly for those mistakes, Marrillyon looked the other way, and Edrahil told Melpomaen that he had earned the punishments, and then added his own on top of them. 

Self-control was important to Edrahil, and Melpomaen had learned it early, as well. So, for many years, he had succeeded in hiding the pain from Siana, who was still their cook, and from Drystan, who was his sometimes-armsmaster. Until one day, Melpomaen over-slept, and his father's valet had left before he could help Melpomaen get ready. Drystan came up to wake his student, and saw Melpomaen's naked body with the half-healed welts from his father's belt and bruises from Lotulcun's fists. Drystan got Melpomaen up and dressed, and walked him to Siana's. The next thing Melpomaen knew, his father was traveling to Edhellond in preparation to sail from there to the West, and Melpomaen himself had been made a ward of Lord Cirdan's, and assigned to the Shipwright's staff as an apprentice archivist. Siana and Drystan and their little daughter Eilunwen moved to Mithlond with Melpomaen, and he saw them frequently in the course of his new, lighter duties in Cirdan's castle in Mithlond. 

Melpomaen only saw his father once, before Edrahil left for Edhellond and Melpomaen for Mithlond. Edrahil was angry, angrier than Melpomaen had ever seen him, but also weary. Lord Cirdan was present, and Drystan. Edrahil bid his son farewell, and left him a small inheritance and a small lie. He said that Melpomaen was four years older, forty and eight instead of forty and four. Melpomaen supposed that his father had done that, so that Edrahil's employment of teenaged Melpomaen in the shipbuilding business would sound more acceptable. Melpomaen didn't like the lie, but he feared that his father's wrath would outweigh the good of telling the truth. And then later, Melpomaen was stuck with it. 

Less than a year after Melpomaen joined Cirdan's staff, the Lord Mariner sent him to Imladris to care for a shipment of books meant to be a loan to Lord Elrond's archive in Imladris. There Melpomaen met Erestor, and befriended the Elrondionnath. And there, after a number of adventures, he ended up staying as Erestor's adoptive son, and the sworn-brother of Elladan and Elrohir. 

Melpomaen's dream recollection of the past began to fragment. He realized that he was in Imladris, but he was still partially back in Lindon, hearing the angry voice of Lotulcun. In his dream, Drystan didn't come that day, and Melpomaen was still subject to Lotulcun's authority, in the drafting room that had become a place of torture for the younger Melpomaen. 

Dream-Lotulcun raised his fist to punch Melpomaen in the stomach again. Yet, at the same time, Melpomaen heard Glorfindel's voice in Imladris. Heard the voice of the Balrog-Slayer, on the practice fields, yelling at Melpomaen that if he was going to punch someone, he had to fight like he meant it. That someone who might hurt Melpomaen might hurt the twins, and if Melpomaen was the last line between Elrond's heirs and an enemy, that had cursed well better mean something. 

In the dream, Lotulcun raised his fist yet again. But Melpomaen hit him back, first. A square blow, right on the nose. Melpomaen felt the impact and the squish of cartilage, which was strange, because there had been no actual physical pain, no physical sensations, in the dream. It was frightening, and Melpomaen cried out. 

He began to awake to the sound of a familiar voice cursing. Melpomaen screamed again, as someone was holding him, holding his arms still. 

"Thuringwehil's tits, Melpomaen! I am not going to hurt you! Now, calm down!" Lord Glorfindel thundered, holding Melpomaen pinned against his hip with one arm, while the other held a pillow to his nose. Glorfindel's broken, bleeding nose.


	21. Memory's Ghosts Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond and Erestor can be a bit overwhelming, at times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote:
> 
> "Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them." ~Oscar Wilde
> 
> Excerpt from Part V: 
> 
> "In the dream, [Melpomaen's father Edrahil's foreman, Lotolcun] raised his fist yet again. But Melpomaen hit him back, first. A square blow, right on the nose. Melpomaen felt the impact and the squish of cartilage. Which was strange, because until then, there had been no actual physical pain, no physical sensations, in the dream. It was frightening, and Melpomaen cried out. 
> 
> He began to awake to the sound of a familiar voice cursing. Melpomaen screamed again, as someone was holding him, holding his arms still. 
> 
> "Thuringwethil's tits, Melpomaen! I'm not going to hurt you! Now, calm down!" Lord Glorfindel thundered, holding Melpomaen pinned against his hip with one arm, while the other hand held a pillow to his nose. His broken, bleeding nose."

Melpomaen was numb with shock and horror. Still reeling from the fright and desperation he'd felt in his dream. As if that wasn't enough, he was also completely distraught and appalled to have BROKEN THE BALROG-SLAYER'S NOSE. It had been an accident, but still.... 

"Gailest," Glorfindel called to someone passing in the hallway, "Sit with Melpomaen, will you?" 

The wife of Elrond's chief Healer and the mother of two of Ceredithlas and Thenithol came in immediately, exclaiming over Glorfindel's injury and putting a maternal arm around Melpomaen, before asking what had happened. 

"Nothing happened." Glorfindel replied shortly, "I woke Melpomaen up, and evidently I so badly. Be discreet about it, if you will." 

Gailest didn't seem to be paying Glorfindel much attention. Instead, she was patting Melpomaen's shoulders and drawing one of Erestor's soft blankets around him. "There, there. Everything will be just fine, dear. Everyone has bad dreams, sometimes. Here, Lord Glorfindel, pour him some water." 

Glorfindel gave the elleth a sharp look, but did as she asked. Melpomaen couldn't even look at the great Lord as he placed the glass goblet in Melpomaen's hand. 

Glorfindel sighed. Melpomaen started shaking. 

Gailest tut-tutted. Melpomaen stared at the floor, but not for long. After a scant few moments, Erestor arrived at a run, followed by Gailest's husband Moicasion. Erestor went straight to Melpomaen, holding his arms gently and calling his name. 

"I...I hit Glorfindel." Melpomaen confessed brokenly, looking up to meet Erestor's dark worried eyes. "I didn't mean to. I thought he was someone else." 

Glorfindel waved the healing master away from him, "I'm fine, Moicasion. I lost count of the times someone broke my nose many centuries ago. You go make sure that my grandson's elfling is well. He was very upset when I woke him." 

Erestor nodded tightly. "Grandfather is fine, Melpomaen. He is quite tough. Now, are you alright?" Erestor moved to one side slightly to let Moicasion began to examine Melpomaen. 

"I'm fine, Adar. Really, I am. You needn't...." 

Moicasion grunted, "Hold still, Erestorion. Your breathing is shallow and too fast." 

"Make him drink more water." Glorfindel suggested, now holding the clean side of Gailest's discarded smock to his nose. Mociasion's wife had evidently been painting, perhaps the background of Lord Elrond's study. She was working on a new portrait of their Lord's family, set there. 

At that point, Lord Elrond himself joined them, shedding scribes, a fussy valet, and and three members of the Castellan's staff at the door. "What is going on?" Elrond demanded, "Erestor panics and takes off, leaving me with the entire roomful of anxious adolescent ellith that is my counsel today." Erestor seemed torn between guilt and worried annoyance, with the latter winning. 

Elrond sighed, his manner softening at that, "I am happy to help you, Erestor gwador-nin, as always, but if I am late to meet Celebrian in order to commence these infernal Harvest Celebration ceremonies, your gwathel will KILL me. And you KNOW that I am not jesting." 

Master Healer Moicasion sneered at their Lord, apparently not feeling the need to keep up the pretense that he and Elrond weren't rivals in this small group. Gailest sighed, as Moicasion sarcastically commented, "Oh, by all means, Great Lord, if you are too busy to aid poor Erestor's son when he is in shock and trembling, do go about your important business. I am sure that my poor services will suffice." 

Melpomaen was having trouble breathing, but he just wanted them all to GO AWAY. "I'm FINE!" He gasped. 

Erestor's hand tightened on Melpomaen's one shoulder, as Elrond gave him a sympathetic look. "Everyone, out." He ordered. "Moicasion, you can clean and re-set my Captain Glorfindel's nose." Elrond bestowed a tight, almost-amused smile on the Balrog-Slayer, "It's a simple fracture, Glor. It should heal quickly enough." 

"I KNOW that." Glorfindel commented sotto voce, pausing to kneel down and look at Melpomaen. Melpomaen wanted to look away, but Glorfindel's bright blue eyes caught his own gaze before he could. 

"I am not angry with you, Melpomaen." Glorfindel said firmly, "And that was a good hit. I assume that, in your dream, I was someone threatening you. And in that case," Glorfindel paused, then nodded firmly, his lips curving into a hint of a smile, "Well done, pen neth. Well done." 

Melpomaen gaped. Sometimes, Imladris was such a weird place. 

Glorfindel, Moicasion, and Gailest departed, leaving Melpomaen alone with just his adoptive father and Lord Elrond. 

"Deep breaths." Lord Elrond commanded, "And drink." Another goblet of water manifested itself in front of Melpomaen, and he drank. Elrond and Erestor were intimidating, either on their own and especially both together. But they weren't intimidating Melpomaen, at least not at the moment. They gave him space and some time, and he calmed down. 

"It...it was just a bad dream." He explained. "I...Lord Glorfindel was someone else, in the dream, and he was hitting me. So I hit him, just to stop him. I didn't mean to hurt the Captain." 

"I know, ion-nin." Erestor said reassuringly, "I know." Then Erestor took a deep breath, and his gaze turned from entirely sympathetic and worried to mostly firm, "Now, who was it, in the dream, who was hurting you?" 

"I don't want to talk about it." Melpomaen said softly, looking down at the carpet again. He didn't have to look up, to see that both Erestor and Elrond were looking at him in concern. They both read minds, especially Lord Elrond, and Melpomaen didn't want his mind read right now. The best way to avoid that was not to make eye contact. 

They were dangerous, the Lord of Imladris and his chief Advisor. Not dangerous to Melpomaen - in fact, woe betide anyone who hurt him. Because these two dark-haired elves, the famous gray-eyed Peredhel and the deceptively delicate looking Erestor, would take that someone down. Hard. Melpomaen still didn't know exactly what had happened to Lotulcun, or to Marillyon, or to anyone who had even known that they were unkind to Melpomaen. But they had all suddenly decided to sail a few years ago, in the company of some of Cirdan's warriors. And some of them had needed healers, as well. 

No, Elrond and Erestor were not a danger to Melpomaen, nor to any good-hearted elf of Melpomaen's acquaintance. But they were scary elves. Melpomaen had learned early that scary elves can go from being protective to abusive without his being able to do anything to stop it. He'd learned that the powerful elf who should have been most determined to love and protect him- his own father - had twisted that love and protection, and become a danger to Melpomaen. The greatest danger that Melpomaen had ever faced. It was a fundamental truth of Melpomaen's understanding that power cut both ways. That the same power which could be used to protect could also be used to harm, and that the same powerful elf was capable of both actions. Melpomaen did not truly think that Elrond and Erestor would ever abuse their power in more than the most minor of ways....but he could never forget that they could, if they wanted to. That the twins could, too. 

A gentle hand reached down and tipped up Melpomaen's chin. It was Erestor's, and he was determined. "I am sorry, ion-nin, but the last time I let you keep a secret which had you this distraught, you nearly died. I will not let that happen again. Tell me." 

Melpomaen swallowed, still not wanting to explain. He didn't want to tell them about his mother, and how he felt guilty, and how he felt alone. They had all been so kind to him, and he didn't want them to know that he was so....ungrateful. Unable to let the past go. So weak, that he let the past torment him. 

"We do not need to know everything, Melpomaen." Lord Elrond added, "Some things are personal, and that is fine. But the past can poison you, if you let it. And if someone is threatening you now, in my realm...." Elrond trailed off, and Melpomaen reflected that he really wouldn't want to be one of the Peredhel lord's enemies. Sauron might be scary, but Elrond was pretty scary on his own, when someone threatened anything he loved. Elrond wasn't entirely elven, or human, and sometimes it showed. Add in Erestor, who was smart and perceptive, and inclined to flatter and finesse while Elrond reasoned and maneuvered, the two of them working together to investigate and thoroughly examine any foe or obstacle...well, Melpomaen didn't want to play the role of obstacle. He'd learned stubbornness in a hard school, too. 

"Melpomaen." Erestor commanded, "Tell me, or you and I will be spending the rest of the evening together, here, until you do feel so inclined." 

And that was Erestor's stubborn voice. He meant it. He would be perfectly happy to sit here in his chambers with Melpomaen, waiting for Melpomaen to be ready to talk about it. It would mean missing the ceremonies of thanksgiving to Eru for the harvest, where Erestor, as Elrond's Chief Advisor, played no small part. Celebrian would be truly upset, and the twins would think that it was all because of them, when it was only partially because of them and Melpomaen didn't want to give them the satisfaction, and....

"Alright." Melpomaen conceded miserably, "But just you, Ada." Most elves wouldn't have been brave enough to so callously dismiss the Lord of Imladris, or to force Lord Erestor to consent to his Lord's dismissal. Melpomaen was testing them both, just a bit. Would they let him have his way in this minor matter, or would they use their power against him, to force him to do something for his own good in a way that they could both help him, when perhaps only Erestor's presence was necessary, and he was the only one Melpomaen wanted. Elladan said that Melpomaen was 'testing' people to see if they were like his earlier abusers, and to learn the extent of Melpomaen's own power within the strictures of the rules he must obey as Erestor's son and an elf of Imladris. Elladan generally went onto compare Melpomaen to prior case studies in his father's scrolls about mind health, and to suggest other tests Melpomaen might perform. Elrohir usually shut his twin up before Melpomaen got upset enough to leave the room or, even more rarely, to snap at Elladan- and only once, to tackle Elladan, but the twins had never told anyone about that, and no one had gotten hurt. 

Lord Elrond clapped Erestor on the shoulder. "Unless there's someone I need to deal with, then that's fine. Let me know, gwador muin nin." Elrond patted Melpomaen's knee, "I am here if you wish to discuss anything, my dear young one. Do let me know if you feel unwell." 

Melpomaen nodded, "Thank you, my Lord. And, um, can you...not, ah, tell them? About this? The twins, I mean?" 

Elrond blinked in surprise. "I will not tell them." He offered, "My oath as a healer, as well as my respect for a matter which is yours - and your father's - and not my own, would prohibit me. But even I do not know all of their sources of intelligence, so I cannot promise you that they will not learn." 

Melpomaen nodded in resignation. Everyone knew that was true. Erestor sat down beside him as Elrond left the room, and Melpomaen leaned into his father's embrace. With just Erestor there, Melpomaen didn't feel the need to keep up so much of a brave front. He wasn't ready to speak yet, but Erestor didn't make him. His father's rich red robes were soft and smelled safe, so Melpomaen just stayed there, for a moment. 

In the hallway, Melpomaen could hear Elrond speaking with Lord Glorfindel, who had apparently elected to lurk behind instead of seeking medical treatment as he'd been ordered. Melpomaen wasn't really that surprised; Glorfindel was apt, at times, to view Elrond's 'orders' as suggestions. It was an occasional source of conflict between the two powerful elves. 

Melpomaen stayed safe in Erestor's arms, letting his adoptive father stroke his hair and braids. The last of the old fears and angers and hurtful feelings from the dream began to fade away, under the gentle regard of his father. Meanwhile, Elrond and Glorfindel were talking, their voices very clear despite the wall and door between them. 

Glrofindel's booming voice demanded, "No, Elrond, I am asking you if I am intimidating. Because I seem to be intimidating my poor grandson's adopted son, and I don't know why! So, maybe you can explain it. Do I intimidate you?" 

Erestor's shoulders shook with silent laughter for a moment, and Melpomaen looked up to meet Erestor's eyes. Melpomaen was greatly intimidated by Captain the Lord Glorfindel, the great Balrog-Slayer and Reborn Elf. But sometimes not so much so, as in these moments when Erestor was laughing at the very idea of his sworn-brother Elrond being intimidated by Glorfindel. 

"Vorondanya, I am sorry," Elrond began, in slightly amused, slightly regretful voice, "But after having been fostered by elves whom I KNEW had killed almost everyone I knew, and tried to kill my mother, you just weren't ever that intimidating. Please don't mistake my meaning. Oh, you're certainly intimidating, Glor, but I knew that you weren't going to kill me or anyone I cared about, so I didn't find you that intimidating." 

"Elrond, guren, I mean this in the nicest possible way - you endured a horrifically warping childhood. It should have made you even more insane than you currently are." 

"Not really." Elrond disagreed absently, "Just that part of it was somewhat bad. Children who have someone who believes in them often turn out well, no matter what they endure. Now, let's see to your nose, my difficult friend." 

Their bantering voices faded down the hall way, and Melpomaen found the courage to look up at his father. The mentor, friend, and father whom loved so very much, who was in truth only Melpomaen's second cousin of several removes. But Erestor had CHOSEN to adopt Melpomaen, to give unto Melpomaen all of the rights and privileges which would have pertained to a son of his body. 

"So," Erestor began, sympathy and love for Melpomaen lightening the determination in his dark eyes, "What did you encounter in your dreams, which upset you so?" 

Most other elves would have kept going, would have asked more and more specific questions. Erestor just waited, until Melpomaen slowly began, "It was...I was back, in Lindon, in the drafting room of my father's business. I had just accidentally made a mistake on draft plans for a ship, a mistake which was going to cost my father money and all of us time. Lotulcun - you remember Lotulcun..." Melpomaen said, as he didn't want to go into who Lotulcun had been, not again, not today. 

Erestor nodded darkly, one of his arms curving protectively around Melpomaen. "Aye," Erestor said in a silky soft voice, a thin veneer of civility hiding what were, in fact, very dire intentions toward Lotulcun. Melpomaen was grateful that Erestor had been with him, when Lotulcun suffered his accident and had to sail. 

"What did Lotolcun do to you, my son?" Erestor asked, in a tone of voice that suggested he deeply regretted not having had the chance to deal with Lotolcun properly himself. 

"He...he was hitting me, as he sometimes did, when I really angered him." Melpomaen explained, reaching up to grab Erestor's tense hand. "Please, Ada. Please don't let this hurt you like that. I'm here, with you. Lotolcun is gone, the Valar's problem. This all happened in the past, I'm safe now." 

Erestor took a deep breath. Then he held Melpomaen all the more tightly. "It is impossible for me to explain to you how desperately I wish that I could have been there, to protect you from Edrahil and Lotolcun and all of their ilk." 

"You couldn't have, though. I don't blame you, for that." Melpomaen assured him. 

Erestor patted his shoulder, "I thank you. And what I can do, is to help you with these dreams. Elrond has some techniques he can teach you, to aid your mind to realize that you are in a dream, and to have some direction over the course that the dream will take." 

Melpomaen blinked. That sounded interesting. He wondered how it worked. 

"Do you mean, Ada, that I could imagine Lotulcun on the docks with us, and then, say, a giant octopus, picking him up and taking him away forever?" 

Erestor laughed, "Something like that. Elrond has quite the sense of humor, and I'm sure that idea would appeal to him." 

Nodding, Melpomaen consented, "If Lord Elrond has time, I will work on such skills with him. I have not had such dreams in a long time, I doubt that they will come again in the near future." 

Erestor studied Melpomaen carefully, intently. "Elrond will making training you one of his highest priorities, Melpomaen. And until you have achieved some mastery of this technique, you will sleep with me in my bedchamber." 

Melpomaen's jaw dropped, "Ada! That's....that's....I'm not a little elfling!" Melpomaen objected, much offended. 

Erestor crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, "No, you are not a little elfling. But you are my elfling, and of age or not, you owe me a duty of obedience. You will come here instead of your bedchamber to sleep tonight, or I will come to look for you, and then you will be going to sleep here with a sore bottom."

Melpomaen flushed. Erestor sighed, and pulled his son into a hug. "Melpomaen, I am only doing this because I can tell that you are still troubled. When you are troubled, you occasionally make very poor, dangerous decisions." Erestor pulled Melpomaen away by his shoulders, just far enough that they could look oneanother in the eye. "Melpomaen," Erestor continued firmly, "I am NOT going to lose you. Nor will I entertain the possibility of your getting hurt, just because you are troubled by something which you do not wish to share, or do not know how to share." 

Such blatant declarations of love and protectiveness left Melpomaen's heart feeling funny, and his throat tight. He didn't fight it at all when Erestor pulled him into another embrace. They stayed there for a few moments, Melpomaen reflecting on how lucky and blessed he was to have found Erestor, and to have been taken in as Erestor's son. 

"Now," said Erestor softly as they pulled away, "I will let you go, so that you might meet the twins to dress for the ceremony of thanks giving." 

Melpomaen shook his head, "I'm not getting ready with the twins." If they didn't want Melpomaen to spend the evening with them, then he wouldn't share in their social, banter-filled process of getting dressed for the event. 

"All...right." Erestor drawled, confused. "I believe that they are expecting you, however." 

'Good.,' Melpomaen thought to himself. He bowed to his father, asking Erestor's leave to go get ready in his own room. Leave which Erestor reluctantly granted. But only after warning Melpomaen again that if Melpomaen's reticence in sharing his troubles resulted in danger or harm to Melpomaen, then they were going to have a 'discussion' about it. Erestor had patted Melpomaen's bottom gently, to make it perfectly clear that a spanking would be at issue. 

Melpomaen wasn't planning to do anything dangerous, so he just blushed at the reminder. He dressed quickly, spurning the tunic he would normally have worn for such an event. That tunic bore the personal arms of Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion, as well as the designs of Melpomaen's house, which was his father Erestor's house. Tonight, Melpomaen wore only the black leggings and tunic with gold and green embroidery, denoting his relationship to Erestor, and discreetly, his relationship to Lord Glofindel, the patriarch of Erestor's family, 

Melpomaen also wore only two pieces of jewelry. One ring which Erestor had given to him as a Mettare present during the first winter Melpomaen had spent in Imladris. A tiger's eye surrounded by black jet, on a ring of palest white gold. Erestor's wife Taminixe had made it for one of their sons. He also wore a ring of golden beryl surrounded by emeralds. It looked like a golden-hearted flower in a ring of green, a subtle homage to Glorfindel's house, and to his son Arandil, who had made that design his own sigil. First, Erestor had borne the ring, as Arandil's heir. Later, the ring had stayed on Erestor's hand, because he was heir to both Glorfindel and Arandil, the youngest scion of their house. The day that Erestor adopted Melpomaen, he had gifted this ring to Melpomaen, to show that Melpomaen was now the youngest scion of Glorfindel's house. 

Melpomaen wore no earrings at all. Normally, he wore a twisted hoop in his right ear. Three strands of metal, one each of steel, silver, and copper, twisted around and around one another into a delicate yet somehow also dangerous-looking circle. They had been specially made for Melpomaen and the twins, and each wore one in his right ear. Not everyday, necessarily, but certainly for most dinners and any formal event, such as today's. 

Melpomaen took a rarely used hallway to the first of the ceremonies, so as to avoid the twins. He went to stand by Erestor on the dais, ignoring the hurt, imploring looks from the twins, where they stood beside their parents. He got through all three ceremonies that way, although he could tell that Erestor was losing patience with all three of them, and rather just wanted them to sit down and sort out the problem already. But the official part was over, and the informal entertainments were beginning. So Melpomaen, with a heavy heart, watched the twins lead the younger elflings off to beg treats from the elves of the city. Then he went in the opposite direction, to the garden party intended for young elves who were of age. Later that night, all of the groups would join together again, for a ball in the main open hall of the last homely house. That would likely go on until dawn, although the elflings did not always stay so long. 

That part Melpomaen had been looking forward to gratefully. He loved to sing, and to dance, although he wasn't always brave enough for the latter. With the twins he was always brave enough, but he didn't know if they were going to even want anything to do with him. Resigned to having a bad time, and nervous, Melpomaen allowed himself to be collected by the boisterous young Lord Belegarth and his pretty friend Galasdes.


	22. Memory's Ghosts Part VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen feels out of place amongst the older young adults, and then his memories overwhelm him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from Previous Chapter: 
> 
> "Resigned to having a bad time, and nervous, Melpomaen allowed himself to be collected by the boisterous young Lord Belegarth and his pretty friend Galasdes." 
> 
> Quote:
> 
> "THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,   
>  The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,"   
>  \- From the first few lines of "The Highway Man," by Alfred Noyes

Sprightly music and cheerful chatter predominated at the Harvest Festival gathering set up for the young adult elves in Imladris garden. Melpomaen would rather have been with the twins, escorting the younger elflings from residence to residence. 

"And that's when I managed to find the bandits' trail." Lord Belegarth boasted proudly. 

"How very clever of you." Complimented a blond elleth whose name Melpomaen did not know. Then she turned adoringly to Melpomaen, and added, "But nowhere NEAR as brave as taking on an entire mercenary band with our young twin lords." 

That was an imprecise summary of what had been a terrifying experience for Melpomaen. He managed a non-committal mumble. Belegarth, fortunately, took being upstaged in good part, and Galasdes subtly inserted herself in between Melpomaen and the shrill blond elleth. 

"Fortune-hunters." The Master Carpenter's elegant daughter dismissed with a sniff, "And this is only a warm-up for what it will be like when Elrohir and Elladan come of age." 

"What do you mean?" Asked Melpomaen. 

Galasdes gave him a sympathetic, poor-little-elfling look. It made Melpomaen quite cross, even though he wasn't exactly sure why. 

"Don't think on it, Melpomaen." Saelorn the junior scribe reassured him. Then talk moved on to things that Melpomaen knew little of. He felt very disconnected - he didn't know these elves in more than passing, and they didn't know him. If the twins had been there with him, it would have been alright. They were good at making conversation and drawing him into it. Melpomaen felt their absence like a palpable ache, and really wished that he could be with them tonight, even thought he was of age and they were not. But they hadn't wanted him, so here he was. 

Melpomaen excused himself to get some air, brushing by Guard Thenithol and his sister Ceredithlas on the way. He might have stayed to talk with them - he at least knew them better. Thenithol ended up on twin-duty on a fairly frequent basis, and Ceredithlas was a healer, and a friend of Elladan's. But they were older than him and he was afraid that they would only be humoring him...and he just wasn't in the mood. So he merely nodded, and kept walking until he came to another, quieter garden. 

In pleasant contrast to the the party he'd left, this garden was quiet and calm, undisturbed by anything save a strong breeze promising rain to come. Melpomaen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to gird himself to be more confident and return to the get-together. He didn't want the twins to know that he couldn't have a good time without them. He didn't want Erestor to worry that he wasn't having a good time. 

The wind picked up as Melpomaen struggled to gather his courage. Around the borders of this garden, the trees had been hung with wind chimes. Their song took him back to the night his mother died, and everything was suddenly just too much. Melpomaen took off at a run in the opposite direction of the party. He had no idea where he was going, just away from there and his feelings of guilt and grief and loneliness, everything that was making him hurt inside. 

He ran past trees and over brooks, barely aware of where he was going. Just as he stumbled over a musical tumble of water over stones, he felt...something. He wasn't quite sure at first what it was. The night sounds of the forest were just a little different. More wild, less musical. It felt more dangerous. Melpomaen swallowed nervously, then stepped back across the creek. Immediately, everything was as it had been before. He had reached the border of Elrond's lands, the line over which the power of the peredhel no longer held sway. 

He stumbled back a little further into Imladris, coming to rest with his back against a beech tree, watching the water fall and swirl. The clouds danced across the dark sky over the full moon. It looked like the sky had the night his mother died, before the storm had come. Melpomaen sat down, exhausted emotionally and physically. The leaves blew, the sound of the winds moving through them for a moment sounding like the sea. Melpomaen remembered how his mother had once told him how the moon itself was like a ship, sailing in a sea of clouds and stars. Tears glimmered on his cheeks as the weight of memories overwhelmed him.

[Erestor pov] 

To say that Erestor was concerned about his son after Melpomaen's troubled dreams of that afternoon was something of an understatement. Elrond told him that he was overreacting, but having lost his wife and first child, Erestor was inclined to leave nothing to chance. 

"Melpomaen is a sensible elfling...young elf." Elrond reminded his Chief Advisor, as all of the elves of Imladris began to come together in the main hall." 

"I didn't say that he wasn't." Erestor countered quietly, "But he has a habit of keeping his worries and troubles to himself, and that can be overwhelming." Only half of Erestor's attention was on Elrond. His eyes were busy searching the throng of entering elves for the slender form of his adopted son. 

"As overwhelming as having one of your guards' elflings fall into a river as a result of one of your clever elflings' plans to 'liven up' the Lasse-lanta festivities?" Elrond asked sardonically. 

Erestor's lips twitched. "It wasn't completely Elrohir and Elladan's fault." He felt compelled to point out. "They did tell the elflings to WALK across the bridge." 

Elrond huffed in annoyance. "They made begging for treats into a race, and then they were surprised when the younger elflings wouldn't slow down to walk across the rain-slicked bridges." 

"To be fair to our children," Celebrian pointed out with a smile, "They don't have any younger siblings, so how are they to remember these things?" 

Elrond's face went pale, and Erestor suppressed a smile, still scanning the new arrivals. 

The time when Melpomaen was to have joined them on the dais came and went. With a slight, concerned frown, Elrond commenced the last of ceremonies of thanksgiving, offering the elves' praise and gratitude to Eru for the harvest. Erestor excused himself, and discreetly collected Elrond's twin sons (who had been making their own inobstrusive departure, Erestor hesitated to even imagine why). Elrohir and Elladan exchanged baffled, worried glances and then followed him, as did Glorfindel. 

"Melpomaen should be here, and he is not." Erestor told his pupils worriedly. "And he was very upset today, about something having to do with the two of you." 

The twins began to explain in a tumble of words, and Erestor held up his hand, "I do not need to know the specifics of the disagreement, although if the three of you don't fix it quickly, I will. But right now I just need to know where my son is. 

"We don't know!" Elladan exclaimed, his grey eyes dark with concern. 

"We were going to try and find out when you grabbed us." Elrohir explained, "Melpomaen wasn't with us. We thought that he'd be bored, having to keep us company, since we're still doing the boring elfling things, going around for treats and such."

"He's too polite to say so, of course." Elladan continued, "But especially given how down he's seemed of late, we thought it would be nice for him if he got to celebrate properly." 

Erestor resisted the urge to hold his head. "And by 'celebrate properly' you mean...

"Well, we arranged for him to join some of the ellyn and ellith who are a bit older," Elrohir explained, "They said that they'd take care of him, make sure that he had a good time and didn't drink too much." 

"But we thought that maybe drinking some and dancing would make Melpomaen feel better, since drinking a lot always seems to help Glorfindel feel better." 

Erestor gave his grandfather a dark look. Glorfindel looked imperturbable. 

"So we were about to go hunt up Belegarth and that lot, to see if they know where Melpomaen is, since they were SUPPOSED to be watching out for him." The twins looked intent on making someone suffer if Melpomaen had had a bad time." Elrohir finished. 

Just then, Elladan saw something in the hallway beyond him which made him rush to the door and wave the passing elf down. 

"Thenithol, did you see..."

"Melpomaen?" The twins asked. 

Fortunately, Thenithol had, and he'd thought it strange enough to see Melpomaen going out to the outer garden that he'd noted it. Glorfindel gave Erestor a quiet nod, and went off in search, while Erestor worried. He'd lost his wife in childbirth, and with her their first son. He loved Melpomaen as his own. The pains that troubled his adopted child troubled him too, and he regretted dearly not having pressed Melpomaen more closely on what those worries were. Melpomaen should be fine- the woods around Imladris were fairly safe, although Eru only know what Melpomaen had been thinking to run off into them. 

*Erestor inyonya,* Glorfindel called silently, *I have found him, near the little waterfall that marks the edge of our Lord's lands. I will wait near there, guarding him, until you arrive.* 

*Have you talked to him? Is he alright?* Erestor immediately replied

*No. He looks fine, but he's crying. You deal with that type of thing better than I do.* 

That last was very true, so Erestor made no objection. So he just hurried to that site, leaving the twins to make explanations to their father and to continue their hosting duties with respect to the younger elflings.


	23. Memory's Ghosts Part VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen finds some peace in the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! 
> 
> Quotes:
> 
> "I want to live with all of my memories, even if they're sad memories. I believe that if I stay strong, someday I'll overcome the pain, and then I'll be glad that I have those memories. I believe that there are no memories that are okay to forget." - Natsuki Takaya, Fruits Basket (Momiji Sohma)
> 
> "Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." - Zora Neale Hurston

"You, ion-nin, are not where you are supposed to be." Erestor's rich, deep voice spoke, interrupting Melpomaen's misery. 

Melpomaen blinked in surprise at the sudden appearance of his adoptive father. "You have a spider in your hair." 

Erestor shuddered for a second, then he straightened, fixing Melpomaen with a stern look. "Never mind that." He answered, although he did quickly brush the offending arachnid away. "Tell me what is troubling you, Melpomaen-nin. All of it, this time." 

"It...it is foolish." Melpomaen murmured back, wiping his wet face. 

Erestor sighed, and sat down beside him, the fallen leaves rustling around them both. "You can't help what you feel, ion-nin. Come now, share it with me." 

"It may hurt you." 

"Melpomaen, whatever is bothering you led you here, to within a stone's throw of the lands over which Elrond's power does not hold sway. If anything were to happen to you, it would not just hurt me. It would wound me grievously." Erestor paused, and then added hoarsely, "I cannot lose another son." 

"I...I didn't mean to worry you!" Melpomaen said frantically. 

Sighing again, Erestor leaned forward to press his forehead against his son's. "You never MEAN to, ion-nin. It happens, nonetheless. Now, what is the matter?" 

Haltingly, Melpomaen began, "Its...I don't know how to explain exactly." 

"I am not in a hurry, now that I know you are safe." 

Melpomaen nodded gratefully. He took a deep breath, then fiddled with a thread coming loose from his tunic. "My mother, my Amme, she was lost to me, to us, the night after Lasse-lanta. I feel...I feel as if I am being disloyal, by being happy. She is gone...and I am here, and I am happy, with you. In being happy, I've forgotten things...the treats that Amme liked to give out to elflings and children on Lasse-lanta. The dress that she was wearing the night that she..." Melpomaen bowed his head, his shoulders shaking with quiet tears. 

Erestor just pulled the younger elf against him, murmuring gentle endearments until Melpomaen's storm of weeping had passed. 

"I did not know that this was the anniversary of Solora's death, Melpomaen-nin." Erestor said at last, stroking his son's hair. "I should have. If I had, I could have helped you to better bear your grief. Please don't leave me in the dark when it comes to matters which oppress your spirit so." 

"I'm sorry, Ada Erestor. I am. It...it just feels wrong, to be so happy..." Melpomaen murmured. "It reminds me of when my mother was alive, and I was happy. But its hard to reconcile then and now, because if Amme had lived, then I would be in Lindon with her and Atar Edrahil now, and not with you..."

He took a deep harsh breath. "With Atar...with Edrahil, I don't feel so bad about it. There was so much, that happened...I don't feel guilty, about not missing him. Not really, not anymore. But my Amme loved me, she was always good to me. So, now, I don't know what to want, and it makes me feel as if I'm betraying her by being so happy with you, and betraying you by missing her." 

Patting Melpomaen's back soothingly, Erestor replied, "Melpomaen, if your mother was still here with us, what would she want, for you?" 

"I...I don't know." Melpomaen started to reply, then paused, because he did know. He could remember, just as plainly as he could remember the bad times. He could remember one bright morning, walking by the sea-wall in Lindon with his mother Solora. At a party the evening before, his father Edrahil had gone on and on about what a good shipwright Melpomaen would make some day. 

"Is it hard to be a shipwright, Amme?" He had asked Solora, the next morning. 

"Yes, my darling. But it is worthwhile, if it is what you love." She had answered, her dark cloak swirling around her in the ocean wind. Then she had knelt down beside him, wrapping the warmth of her cloak and her love around him. "You need not become a shipwright, my Melpomaen, if it is not where your heart lies. All I want is for you to be happy." 

The memory faded, and Melpomaen was back in the woods near the border of Imladris, with Erestor. 

"She...she would have wanted for me to be happy." 

Erestor nodded, as if he had known that all along. "It is what any parent wants, for their child. And I think that you are happy, here with me, with us." Erestor smiled uncertainly, "At least most of the time." 

"I am. Of course I am." Melpomaen hastened to reassure him, coming to a peace with it all at last. If Solora hadn't died, maybe things would have been different, in many possible ways. But as it was, she would have WANTED this for Melpomaen. 

"I don't know why I didn't think of that." Melpomaen wondered aloud. 

"Hmm." Erestor murmured with wry fondness, shifting slightly to sit beside Melpomaen at the base of the beech tree. "Well, perhaps if you had shared with me the reason behind your abstraction, we could have sorted it out earlier." 

Melpomaen pinked, and nodded. 

"Now," Erestor added sternly, "What else is bothering you, Melpomaen? The misunderstanding with Elladan and Elrohir, hmm?"

"Yes." Melpomaen agreed sadly, before blinking his almond-shaped eyes in confusion. "Wait, misunderstanding? I didn't misunderstand; they didn't want me around them. They..." 

"They mistakenly thought that your recent melancholy was due to being bored with their 'elfling-like' Lasse-lanta activities." Erestor explained compassionately, "Therefore, they helpfully arranged for you to spend the evening engaged in pastimes they assumed would be more to your taste, such that you wouldn't even need to be rude enough to say so." 

Melpomaen groaned. "Elladan and Elrohir are frequently at their most terrifying when they try to be helpful." 

Erestor chuckled, "That is not untrue. Needless to say, they should have spoken to you first. What would you have wanted to do with your holiday evening, ion-nin?" Erestor asked, gently stroking Melpomaen's 

"I...I wanted to go with the twins." Melpomaen explained, feeling a bit embarrassed for that, but wanting to be truthful, both with Erestor and himself. He could trust his father not to violate this confidence. "I know that I'm not an elfling anymore, and that I should begin to enjoy adult things...but I would still have rather gone with the twins and enjoyed another Lasse-lanta with them and the elflings, even so." 

"It is not too late, Melpomaen." Erestor reassured him, his arm tightening around his son's slender shoulders. "I must confess that I have been a bit...pensive, myself, of late. And that part of that was because I was, hmm, nostalgic, I suppose, for the past few years we've spent together, when you were an elfling still." 

Melpomaen turned his chin in surprise, "Really, Ada? But, why?" 

Erestor shifted in the leaves, straightening to regard Melpomaen squarely. Sitting there with Erestor under the full moon and the dancing clouds, the few leaves still rustling above them....well, it might be a scene from a ghost-and-ghoul story, but to Melpomaen it was everything safe and good, just because they were there together. 

"I regret that I have missed so much of your childhood." Erestor explained. "And I think that, all things considered, I prefer that you enjoy some of the care-free elflinghood which you did not get enough of. Well," Erestor clarified with a smile, "Relatively care-free. You will be with the twins, after all, so hopefully you can prevent them pursuing some of their less well-thought out ideas." 

"I'd like to," Melpomaen agreed, before asking tentatively, "You...you don't think that means that there is...something wrong with me, or or, that I'm, I don't know, babyish? After all, I should want to attend the more adult events, now that I am one, but..." 

"Ion-nin, don't be foolish." Erestor scolded. "You are a very YOUNG adult, first off. And you had to grow up entirely too soon, given the situation you were in. You didn't get to BE an elfling. Anyone who thinks that there is something 'wrong' with you for not being in a hurry to grow up lacks perception, and is therefore not worth listening to." 

Melpomaen smiled a little, relieved. Then he felt as if a thousand pounds of weight had fallen back on top of his chest, as he remembered his last parting with Elladan and Elrohir. "I said such awful things to the twins. I...I'm afraid that I've ruined our friendship, as well as just the evening." 

"Melpomaen, my dear heart, again I must admonish you not to be foolish." Erestor chided, reaching out to flick his son's ear gently, "I do not know exactly what you said, but I am quite sure that Elrohir and Elladan know that you love them. And I know that they will forgive you, just as you always forgive them. Just as Elrond and I always forgive one another, and I do assure you, we have had no few arguments over the yeni." 

Melpomaen stared at Erestor for a moment, trying to picture his calm father and the venerable Lord Elrond losing their tempers and verbally savaging one another, as he had done to the twins earlier that day. He couldn't quite manage it. Oh, he knew that they had been young, once, and that they could make mistakes. But they always presented such a united front....

The young elf's brow furrowed as he tried to think how such a thing might have happened, his mind so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost jumped when Erestor lightly flicked his ear again. 

"Ow!" Melpomaen objected, even though it didn't really hurt. "I'm sorry, Ada. I just can't imagine you and Lord Elrond arguing like that." 

"You would be surprised, then." Erestor commented with a wry grin, shaking his head tolerantly. "Sometime later I will share some of those stories with you, ion muin nin. However, for the nonce I am afraid that..." 

"I have to go apologize to the twins!" Melpomaen said frantically, jumping to his feet. He couldn't bear the thought of their misunderstanding coming between them any longer. Now that Erestor had helped him to sort through and put to rest the heartaches which had been troubling him, he didn't want to wait any longer to fix things with his friends. 

Erestor seamlessly got to his feet, his expression gentle but resigned. "Aren't you forgetting something which we must address first, ion-nin?" 

"Oh!" Melpomaen exclaimed. He hadn't realized that he would be due a spanking for his folly of the evening. To his mortification, one of his hands flew to cover his bottom in a subconscious gesture of protection and protest. 

"Yes, oh." Erestor agreed, exasperated, "I was WORRIED about you, Melpomaen. I understand why you were upset - and I would have helped you, if you had let me! But I simply cannot allow you to go running heedlessly off when you get upset. It is dangerous, as you well know!" 

"I'm sorry." Melpomaen offered, bowing his head. "I know...I'm sorry, Ada." 

"Come, ion-nin." Erestor commanded, his expression sympathetic but resolute. "Let us return to your chambers, such that we may quickly have the unpleasant part over with. And then," Erestor gently cupped the back of Melpomaen's neck, "We will do our best to salvage the rest of the evening for you, ion-nin. Including giving you a chance to make things up with your sworn brothers." 

His face flushed scarlet, Melpomaen nodded unhappily. The leaves rustled around their feet as the two elves turned to go. Melpomaen hated the thought of walking all the way back to Elrond's gracious residence in disgrace, burdened by the knowledge that upon their arrival he was to be spanked like a child. Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes flying open as an idea occurred to him. 

"Adar?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Would you...would you mind...dealing with...it, here? The...the spanking, I mean." Melpomaen asked tentatively. 

"Here?" Erestor asked incredulously, looking around the clearing. The wind moaned, scattering the clouds so that the full moon shone down upon the yellowed leaves of the beech tree above them. 

Melpomaen nodded. "I...I don't want to walk all the way back to the residence, knowing..."

"Ah." Erestor said in understanding. He looked around again, clearly finding the surroundings lacking. But then he nodded with a reluctant sigh, "If you would really prefer it, my Melpomaen, then yes, I suppose so." 

Melpomaen nodded earnestly. Erestor sighed again, and then doffed his cloak, laying it over the bed of leaves. He sat down reluctantly in his elegant robes, wincing a bit as a stray leaf floated down onto his intricately braided hair. 

Struggling to hide an inappropriate laugh, Melpomaen studied his feet. He knew that his father didn't particularly like getting dirty, or leaf-covered, at least not when Erestor wasn't properly attired for such activities. It was yet more proof of how very much Erestor loved him, that Elrond's dignified Chief Advisor had not hesitated to sit down in this dirt, leaf, and spider infested clearing not just once, but twice, just for Melpomaen's sake. 

Erestor raised an eyebrow, his eyes soft and fond. "Come, ion-muin-nin. The sooner we are done with this, the sooner we might see about making sure the night turns out better for you." 

Melpomaen couldn't imagine that he would feel at all like celebrating after he'd been spanked, but he made himself walk over to his father and loosen his leggings. 

"Here," Erestor offered a hand. Melpomaen accepted it with another blush. "This is a bit awkward, ion-nin." Erestor commented with some asperity as he lowered his son over his knees, "But we will make do." Melpomaen knew that what Erestor wanted to say was, 'Would it not have been more comfortable to do this indoors?,' and he loved his adoptive father all the more for not actually saying so. Then Melpomaen remembered why he was in this position, but before he had a chance to dwell any further on his sorry state, Erestor had Melpomaen's tunic flipped up and his bottom stinging with a flurry of sharp, firm swats. 

"Ooh...ow!" Melpomaen yelped, slapping his hand flat against the crinkling leaves under his father's soft velvet cloak as he tried to hold still. Erestor's other hand patted his lower back reassuringly, helping him to stay in position. 

The smacks weren't that painful, not really. Melpomaen had had worse spankings, even from gentle Erestor. But they did sting fiercely, and soon Melpomaen was gasping and breathless. His bottom cheeks smarted awfully, and his booted feet kicked helplessly, stirring the leaves. Melpomaen sighed in relief as Erestor's hand paused, then squawked in protest as he felt himself shifted a bit further over Erestor's knees, raising up the tender undercurves of his bottom. 

"Oww...oww..oww....oww....Ow!" Melpomaen cried out, as Erestor's hand left stinging imprints on his sit spots, "I'm sorry, Ada!" 

Erestor rested his hand gently on Melpomaen's smarting bottom, "Please do not suffer in silence until your pain leads you into folly again, ion-nin." He pleaded. 

"I'll...I'll try not to, Ada." Melpomaen promised, wriggling uncomfortably as much at the pain he had caused his beloved father as at the pain Erestor had lit on his backside. 

"Please." Erestor implored, before landing one more resounding smack to the undercurve of each of Melpomaen's bottom cheeks. Then Melpomaen felt Erestor replace his tunic and stroke his hair reassuringly. "We are done, ion-nin. You are forgiven." 

Pulling himself back onto his knees with the aid of Erestor's hand, Melpomaen rubbed his bottom. It hurt. It really did, but not so much as it should, after a spanking. Even a spanking from Erestor. "Is that...is that all?" Melpomaen asked uncertainly. 

Erestor raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Melpomaen explained, "I...I haven't cried. I'll barely even feel that you smacked me, in an hour or so. I won't feel it at all, tomorrow." 

"You ran out of a party and into the woods of Imladris, Melpomaen." Erestor pointed out gently as he helped his son to his feet, "Not into a blinding snow storm. Not all the way to Lindon, alone." That last was underlined with a chiding glance and a swat to Melpomaen's sore hindquarters. 

Melpomaen squeaked. "So...not so very bad?" 

"No." Erestor agreed, solemnly removing a leaf from his son's hair as they started back towards the lights of Elrond's home, "Not so very bad."


	24. Memory's Ghosts IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen and the twins reconcile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story is set in T.A. 171. I am using T.A. 120 as Melpomaen's birth year, and giving him a birthday in December, close to Yule. So, Melpomaen is 50 years old, and the twins (who were born in T.A. 129) are 41 years old. In correspondence to human ages, that would make Melpomaen about 21 years old, and the twins almost 18. 
> 
> There will be one more chapter after this and an epilogue, as I had to break the reconciliation and the party into two different chapters.

"I am sure that Elrohir and Elladan will be pleased to see you, too." Erestor reassured Melpomaen as they passed under the sweetly singing waterfalls that marked the entrance to Elrond's airy villa on the hill. "They have managed to create a great deal of trouble tonight, however unintentionally." 

Melpomaen stifled a groan. The twins did that, a lot. Part of the reason he liked to be involved in whatever they were doing was that, if he was aware of whatever it was at the beginning, he could often tactfully direct it into less catastrophic results. Or at least be ready to go running for adult help in the case of emergencies. He was just about to ask his father what it was that Elohir and Elladan had done, when he heard Elrohir cry out in pain. 

Melpomaen broke into a panicked run, Erestor only a half-step behind him. The shout had come from the twins' bedroom. Melpomaen was one hundred percent certain that it had been Elrohir's voice, and that terrified him. The nine-minutes older twin was a stoic in the finest meaning of the word. 

Melpomaen reached the door and yanked it open, only to be caught around the waist by his father and shoved behind Erestor's back. *Stay back, ion-nin.* The Chief Advisor commanded. *We do not know what we might be facing.* 

Melpomaen's initial view was blocked by his father's protective velvet robed shoulder. Erestor seemed to simultaneously relax and stiffen. Melpomaen stepped past him, and gaped. He saw Elrohir bent over the arm of a settee, bare backside bright red, and decorated also by two darker red stripes. A few feet from Elrohir stood Glorfindel, a small strap in one hand. Elladan cried in the corner, his tunic pinned up and his leggings pulled down making it clear that he had already received his own spanking. 

"Anatar?" Erestor demanded of Glorfindel, "What are you doing?" His entire demeanor spoke of quiet outrage, an emotion which Melpomaen had never before seen Erestor direct at his beloved grandfather. Melpomaen wasn't paying much attention, though. He had immediately run over to the trembling Elrohir. 

"S'ok." Elrond's heir assured Melpomaen softly, although he was holding onto his gwador while he righted his clothes. "He'd already stopped. Really, Mel. It wasn't so bad. The strap just startled me." Elrohir had apparently realized that Melpomaen suddenly felt much less bad about having punched Glorfindel earlier. 

Erestor was helping Elladan, who was making similar protests of being fine. It would have been rather more convincing if Elladan hadn't still been fighting sobs. 

"Have you been drinking?!" Erestor angrily demanded of Glorfindel. 

The balrog-slayer made a frustrated gesture of denial. "Not enough!" He snapped back.

Melpomaen squeezed Elrohir's hand and then Elladan's, as the younger twin came to stand beside them. Melpomaen began to relax as he realized that the twins really weren't that upset. 

"What did they do?" Erestor snapped. Without waiting for Glorfindel to answer, he continued, "I hardly think that the strap was appropriate, WHATEVER it was. Sweet Elbereth, they're only forty-one years old, Anatar!" 

"Really, we're probably older." Elrohir objected. 

"At least relatively speaking." Elladan clarified, still hiccuping a bit. 

"And we were just trying to make sure that everyone had a good time..." Elrohir protested. Melpomaen offered his support, squeezing Elrohir's hand again. Glorfindel gave them both a strange look, and Melpomaen suddenly had the feeling that it wasn't just whatever unwise things the twins had done tonight which had upset Glorfindel, and which had caused him to lose his formidable temper. Rather, it was that the twins had upset Melpomaen, however accidentally. Melpomaen was more than a little unnerved by that. 

Glorfindel sighed, throwing the strap he had been wielding into the corner of the room. "They did nothing to merit the thoroughness of the hiding I gave them." He confessed, before stepping forward to grasp each of the twins by the back of their dark heads and pull them into a rough embrace. He spoke softly to them, so quietly that even Melpomaen right beside them could not hear everything. Melpomaen did make out a murmured endearment, and Glorfindel apologizing for having violated the twins' trust. The twins were not only Glorfindel's favorite students, he loved them as dearly as if they were his own sons (or perhaps grandsons - the balrog slayer was well over five thousand years old). Melpomaen was sure that he hadn't meant to hurt them, and he must not have been that out of control - the twins weren't really hurt. They - and Melpomaen- had received far sterner spankings on several occasions. And not just from Lord Glorfindel. 

"We accept your apology, Glor." Elrohir replied, stepping back in a dignified manner. 

Elladan nodded in agreement, still wiping his eyes. "Yes, of course. These things just happen sometimes, to us." There was a light in Elladan's eyes as he said that, and his fingers flickered. Elrohir's gray eyes began to gleam, as well. A tingle of foreboding worked its way up Melpomaen's spine. 

"Well, they shouldn't." Erestor said fiercely, wrapping an arm around Elladan's shoulders. "'These things' shouldn't happen to anyone." 

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at Erestor, and then turned on his heel to walk out of the room. Melpomaen rather suspected that the balrog-slayer was going off to get much more drunk. 

Erestor's eyes narrowed at his grandfather's retreating back, but he seemed more focused on making sure that the twins were alright.

"Poor Glor." Elladan said sympathetically. 

"He'll probably feel awful later." Elrohir had to agree, albeit a bit reluctantly. Erestor gave both of the twins an odd look, as if he thought that Glorfindel deserved to feel awful over spanking them so hard and strapping them on top of it. 

"Don't tell Ada, Uncle Erestor." Elladan said. Well, ordered. Elladan could be like that. Melpomaen sighed. 

"Don't tell me what to do, Elladan." Erestor scolded, but there wasn't any real heat in the admonition. Normally that type of behavior resulted in Elladan briefly upended and getting a few swats with Erestor's ruler. Tonight, Erestor just sighed, and asked the twins what had happened, and where they were supposed to be. 

Elrohir tilted his chin thoughtfully. "Ada didn't say a particular place to be. Just for us not to be where he was, for an hour or so." 

"Truthfully, I think that Glorfindel was more upset with us for getting Melpomaen into trouble." Elladan explained, with a heartfelt guilty glance towards Melpomaen. 

"I'm so sorry!" Melpomaen offered immediately. 

"Don't be." Elrohir replied with a grin which Melpomaen could only describe as wolfish. 

"Really, don't be." Elladan concurred, his guilt remaining despite the smile now decorating his lively features. "We're going to wait until Glorfindel is completely sober, and then point out that since he's already conceded that he holds us as responsible as if we were fully of age, we should get some of the privileges of being of age." 

Elrohir nodded determinedly, "We've suspected that he thought that we were really fully of age for months now. It was definitely worth this if we got him to admit it." 

Erestor sighed. 

"Oh!" Elladan exclaimed, grey eyes wide, "Not worth upsetting Mel! I meant worth us getting smacked. We're really sorry that we made you think that we didn't want you, Melpomaen gwador-nin. We love you." 

Elrohir nodded in firm agreement. "We would not have purposely left you with that impression, iaur gwador. Not for anything in Arda." Elrohir paused for a moment. Melpomaen had the feeling that he and Elladan were communicating somehow, even though they didn't meet eachother's eyes. 

"If it would make you feel better..." Elrohir offered softly, 

"Then we will pay you the price for our having been insensitive to your own desires and feelings." Elladan finished, reluctant but sincere. 

Melpomaen's eyes flew open in surprise. "Er, no, but thank you, tithen gwedyr muin nin." The twins were offering to let HIM spank THEM. Melpomaen couldn't accept that, not when his own reticence had been at least as much as fault as the twins' trying to be helpful. But there were times when the twins were stubbornly persisting in something idiotic, and Melpomaen's palm positively itched to be applied to their stubborn backsides. So he added with a stern tone, "Not this time, but if you don't listen to me the next time I tell you that, say, certain ideas are REALLY BAD..." Melpomaen gave the twins a meaningful look. 

Erestor put a gentle hand on Melpomaen's shoulder. "I think that I am surplus to requirements for this conversation. I'll excuse myself and attend to my own gwador Elrond. Before I do, nephews, what did you do to so infuriate your father, so that I'm not going in blind?" 

"Nothing." Asserted Elrohir. 

"Really, he was much more upset than he should have been." Elladan agreed. 

"Just tell me." Said the long-suffering Erestor. Melpomaen felt a little bad for his father. He often did, when Erestor was dealing with his gwedyr. 

"Well, you remember how Lindir slipped while running on the bridge...." 

"And fell in the water? Adar blames us for that, which isn't entirely unfair, but..." 

"We did tell them not to run. I suppose that we should have expected the younger elflings to become to excited by the race..." 

"Race?" Melpomaen interrupted, confused. He didn't remember a race being part of any elven culture's harvest festival traditions. 

"Well, just going around from residence to residence begging treats can get boring." Elrohir explained.

Melpomaen sighed. "Not for anyone else." He pointed out. The twins could be easily bored, and their desire to 'liven' things up could really, really liven things up. Beyond exciting and into terrifying. 

"Well, we thought that it was. After all, we thought that you were bored with the elflings' Lasse-lanta activities. We would have much rather have been with you and the other young adults, you know, drinking and dancing and..." 

"Yes, yes, alright." Melpomaen interrupted Elladan. Erestor didn't know that the twins were already more than a little interested in the opposite sex, and Melpomaen thought that for the best. In a way, it was sweet that the twins had arranged for Melpomaen to have had the evening that the twins would have enjoyed - not sensitive, but sweet. "So, Lindir slipped on the bridge while trying to win the race?" Melpomaen prompted to get the twins back on track. 

Elladan nodded. 

"I leapt into the river after him while Elladan climbed down to the bank to help fish us out." Elrohir explained, "And Lieutenant Caradhon was just behind 'Dan." 

It spoke to the twins' speed and attention that they often outpaced their own experienced guards into rescue missions. Melpomaen hoped that someone was paying attention to that. 

"But Lindir didn't even really need us." Elladan said with a proud grin. The twins had helped the shy younger elfling to learn to swim just the summer previous. 

"So I backed off and let him swim to shore on his own." Elrohir agreed. 

"Moicasion and his mother Turamirli fussed over him, but his father Duathben actually seemed rather proud." Elladan pointed

Erestor nodded somewhat impatiently, "Yes, nephews, I knew of that. What happened AFTER that? Your father was vexed but relatively calm when last I saw him." 

"That's the thing. What happened next wasn't dangerous." 

"It was just a mess. Tauriel is a good swimmer." 

Putting a hand to his forehead, Erestor asked, "A good....how did you manage to find a place where that would be relevant INSIDE the residence?" 

"Well, the humans in Bree..." 

"They have this game where they bob for apples, in barrels..." 

"And we had a surfeit of apples this year, and also those crystal tubs..." 

Melpomaen couldn't believe the twins sometimes. "Do you mean the one-of-a-kind, ridiculously expensive white crystal tubs the dwarves of Khazad-dum hand-carved from rare enormous crystals as a gift for your Mother?" 

Elladan gave his gwador an odd look, as if it was Melpomaen who was being strange. "Well, the castellan refused to have barrels in the Hall for the celebration on the grounds that it looked 'common.'" 

"So instead we found something nicer. Naneth said that we could use them, since the water lilies she had decorating them during the spring have been moved to ponds for the autumn." Elladan explained. 

Erestor sighed again. "Of course she did." 

"So we had elflings bobbing for apples." Elrohir continued, "And Tauriel and a few of the others decided that it would be more fun to bob for apples in the koi pond." 

"The large, multi-level koi pond, the one with the waterfalls which runs through Lord Elrond's main hall?" Erestor asked weakly. 

"Yes, that one." Elladan said, "And Tauriel slipped and fell into one of the lower fountains, but she was fine." 

"And the koi which were splashed out of the pond were all returned to the water before suffering great harm." Elrohir explained, with a funny look at his brother for caring so much about fish, "And I could tell that even Adar and Lord Glorfindel were not so worried about the ellith all in a huff because fish or water had splashed on them." 

"And there really wasn't any way for us to have known that the sticky glue would end up affixing certain honored guests to their chairs. It was only MEANT for the costume game." Elladan finished. 

Erestor groaned, then reconsidered. "You know, that's not really not all that bad. Perhaps it's a cumulative effect." They all knew that Elrond wasn't at his best when hosting events such as tonight's. Erestor nodded determinedly, "I will go calm him down. Give me at least thirty minutes. You two go keep Melpomaen company while he changes clothing, and put on clean tunics yourselves." 

The twins nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Uncle Erestor." Elladan added. 

Before he left Erestor pulled Melpomaen close to him. "I love you, ion-nin. Try to enjoy yourself the rest of the night, hmm?" 

"I will, Ada." Melpomaen promised. 

"I'll hold you to that." Erestor said with a soft smile, before turning to Elladan and Elrohir. "I love you too, mischiefs. Take good care of your gwador for me." 

Melpomaen found himself alone with the twins, who grinned at him. 

He had to laugh. "I'm glad that..." He had a hard time figuring out how to put into words how much their friendship meant to him. Fortunately, he didn't have to. 

"Us too." Elladan agreed. Elrohir only nodded, but the fierce fondness in his gray eyes made his feelings clear. 

"And we're actually proud of you for starting to stand up for yourself." Elladan added. 

"Even if you didn't know what you were on about, thinking that we didn't want you. As if we'd ever...don't be that foolish again, Mel." Elrohir lectured. 

Melpomaen sighed, and let it go. Elrohir liked to lecture. 

The three of them were soon in Melpomaen's room, laughing and teasing as they changed. This time Melpomaen wore the tunic denoting his friendship with Elladan and Elrohir, as well as the small hoop earring with its braided strands of silver, copper, and steel. They did not look alike, Melpomaen and the twins, even similarly dressed. The twins hair was as black as a raven's feathers and nearly as shiny, and their features were interesting and aquiline rather than as ethereal as a regular elf's. Melpomaen, on the other hand, would always look delicate. His chocolate-colored eyes had an exotic, almondine slant, and his features were fine to the point of being almost beautiful rather than handsome. But when they walked together, the sons of the Lord of Imladris and his Chief Advisor, it was very clear that they were a unit, the best of friends.


	25. Comfort Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elessar Telcontar is dead, but for Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion, the Fourth Age continues on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you've already read the gen version of "Comfort" posted as a separate story, this chapter and the next only differ from that story in a few paragraph reference to a discipline scene near the end of the next part. 
> 
> A/N 2: I wrote this to get over a bit of writer's block, and I'm not sure that I like it, but it's not going to get better so I thought that I'd post it. 
> 
> A/N 3: Set in approximately Fourth Age Year 126 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”  
> ― Maya Angelou, All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes
> 
> "It is a wise father that knows his own child." - William Shakespeare

Many places had become as home to Elrohir, in the span of his long life. He had apartments, suites, rooms that were 'his' in every Kingdom and major city of Middle Earth. Most often, particularly of late, Elrohir and Elladan were to be found dwelling in the King's House within the tall white Citadel of Minas Tirith, or just to the east in Emyn Arnen. Or if not in Gondor, then in the wood-and-stone King's house of the newly rebuilt city of Annuminas, overlooking the shores of Lake Nenuial, the great lake of Evendim whose far shores could not be seen save on the very clearest of days. 

But Imladris would always be home. 

Elrohir Elrondion pushed a wet braid behind his mostly-pointed ear as he entered the warmth of the study belonging to the Lord of Imladris. The Lord himself sat behind his desk, frowning thoughtfully at a scroll bearing some harried healer's illegible scrawl. Elrohir's twin brother reclined on a settee, tapping one muddy boot against an antique end-table as he read an old book. It was a familiar sight, so familiar in fact that it could have been anytime in the past thousand years. Well, except that the Lord Elrond who looked up with a soft, fond smile to greet him was Elrohir's twice-great nephew, not his father. 

"Hello, Uncle. I hear that you and your blond foils are running both my soldiers AND my children ragged on the practice ground." Faramir's grandson Lord Elrond greeted him, gray-green amused. 

Elrohir grunted an affirmative, before swatting Elladan's feet away from the table. His twin greeted him with a careless half-wave, and a distracted rush of affection through the bond they had shared since infancy. 

Young Lord Elrond lifted one brow at the opaque brevity of Elrohir's answer. Elrohir couldn't help but grin at him in wry fondness. There must have been a hint of melancholy in the affection, since Elrond frowned at him in concern. 

"It is no matter, nephew." Elrohir assured him, "It is just that, for a moment, you recalled my father." The first Lord Elrond had sailed for the West almost one hundred and thirty years ago, leaving three of his children behind him. He had sailed before knowing any of his grandchildren, who now numbered in the dozens. 

"Odd." Nephew Elrond remarked kindly, "I've never seen much resemblance." He gestured to the painting of raven-haired Elrond which hung over the rose-veined marble fireplace. It was Elrond Peredhel relaxed, captured in mid-startled smile. Young Lord Elrond wasn't a blood descendant of the twins or their father Elrond Peredhel, being rather one of Faramir's grandsons through Mithiriel. But his father Theli had been their second cousin, their father's first-cousin once removed, and his closest blood-relation on Middle Earth after his own children. 

"You wouldn't have seen the resemblance, Elrond muin nin." Elladan added fondly, sitting up and closing his book for a moment. "You would have had to have known our father in person. But you may trust our word that you are more than a bit like him." The younger twin explained, while offering Elrohir his wordless, tender, reassuring support. Both twins had more or less gotten past their father's departure well over a century ago, but Aragorn's death had brought renewed grief, particularly as it had followed hard on the heels of other deaths. That, and been followed by many departures of those near and dear to the twins. And to this young Elrond. 

Elrohir shook his head to clear it, refusing to think of those sorrows. Elladan sighed. Elrohir slapped his twin's nearer knee gently, forestalling another silent lecture on the merits of accepting and processing grief. 

*Denial works very well for me, thank you very much, Elrondion-the-most-bossy.* Elrohir told his twin, mind-to-mind, as they were wont to talk amongst themselves. Their nephew smiled faintly, and went back to his scroll. Elladan pursed his rosy lips, undoubtedly thinking that it was Elrohir himself, or possibly Arwen, who was the most bossy of his siblings. 

*No.* Elladan corrected, with a flick of his finger to his own warrior's braids, evoking weaving in a flower. *Andreth* - who had been their first sister and their next-in-age sibling- *was the most bossy. She just hid it well.*

Elrohir thought about conceding that, then suppressed a smile. *She was Elrondiel. You are still the most bossy Elrondion. Unless you care to argue that our younger brother Belemir surpassed you, for surely I myself am always the voice of sweet reason...*

Elladan had to snort disbelievingly at that, but he didn't contest it any further. He just turned back to his book. Robbed of an opportunity to spat with his twin, Elrohir turned back to his nephew Elrond, clearing his throat to regain the attention of Imladris' current ruling Lord. 

"The fighting skills of your children improve apace, nephew." Elrohir said, with no small amount of personal pride, "However, Tandy is still...erratic. Most particularly and dangerously so when she has a blade in her hands." 

Patient young Lord Elrond sighed at that description of his youngest child and only daughter, Tandesi. 

Elladan smirked behind the pages of his ancient book. An ancient book that looked somewhat familiar to Elrohir. He shook his head slightly, and returned to the subject at hand. "Oh, she is gifted enough." Elrohir assured Elrond his nephew "But highly erratic. In fact, she recalls no one so much as...." Just then, Elrohir realized why Elladan's book seemed so familiar. "Elladan!" He exclaimed with a horrified, reproving gasp. 

"What?" Elladan asked, blinking his gray eyes in startled bemusement, before protesting, "I was never THAT erratic of a student warrior. You're fishing for cousin Thranduil, what with the being both volatile and talented. Or maybe Faramir, with the showing his talent and skill at arms so irregularly. Or perhaps even Theli, because Eru only knew what he was going to do at any given moment, with sword or spear or bow or anything else. Certainly he didn't know. In fact, ...." 

"Not that!" Elrohir said sharply, "Your book! Is that...? It is! That's ADA'S journal, Elladan! His personal diary. You can't....you just can't read that!" Elrohir snatched for the book, which Elladan managed to wave just outside of his twin's reach. 

"I don't know why not." Elladan countered levelly, rolling off of the settee to protect his ill-gotten gains. "Ada sailed over a century ago." 

"That doesn't make his private things no longer private, gwanur-nin!" Elrohir scolded his sibling, whilst stalking Elladan across the room. 

No fool Elladan, and no virgin to this game, either. He had a near-perfect knowledge of which furniture in this room was movable without breaking it, and he used that and a speed and grace near-equal to Elrohir's to stay just one step ahead of his twin. 

"Really," Elladan added breathlessly, "If Ada hadn't meant for us to read it, he wouldn't have used a password and locking mechanism that I could crack..." Elladan paused to strew a wooden columnar stand and its resident fragile vase directly into Elrohir's path before continuing, "and with only moderate difficulty, too!" 

Elrohir caught the vase, growling with inarticulate frustration. Their nephew Elrond vacated the room, murmuring something about needing to speak to his wife as a polite pretext for wisely leaving his great uncles to fight this one out between themselves. 

"In that case," Elrohir seethed, as Elladan jumped lightly onto the mantle, dancing in between framed pictures and other valuable knick-knacks, "Why didn't you just crack open Ada's diaries as soon as he sailed? Why wait, after all?" 

Elladan grinned triumphantly as he pulled himself onto a high bookshelf. One of Mithiriel's bookshelves, a later addition to the room, and unsecured. If Elrohir tried to pull his twin down from there, he would pull the whole bookshelf full of valuable, delicate old volumes down along with Elladan. Elrohir conceded the battle with ill grace, standing with his arms crossed, and doing his best impression of their father Lord Elrond in a temper. 

Elladan chortled. "You look like Glorfindel." He observed. 

Elrohir sighed, and gave up intimidation as a bad job. It was his favorite tactic, but it did not always work with his own twin. While any normal elf -or Man - would be quaking in his boots at facing The Great Balrog Slayer, Elladan liked nothing better than to pull Glorfindel's braids. Metaphorically speaking, mostly. Elladan had this occasional suicidal streak which sometimes manifested itself in a desire to infuriate their golden-haired friend and mentor. "Will you come down?" Elrohir demanded instead, gesturing towards the windows and the setting sun, "We both know that you're going to have to leave your safe perch at some point. And when you do, I'll be waiting, so why not save yourself the trouble?" 

"Ha!" Elladan laughed merrily, "Of course I'm coming down at some point, 'Roh, don't be foolish. But first you're going to have to hear me out." 

Squashing his irritation and reluctant pride at his twin's clever strategy, Elrohir gestured for Elladan to go ahead, since he was so very intent on this gross trespass of their father's most private thoughts and memories.

Elladan quickly sobered, crossing his legs and straightening his back as if he were one of the wise men of the far east. "Think, Elrohir." He urged, "Adar knew me, and he knew you. He visited Imladris again after the end of the Ring War, at least once after he knew that he would soon sail to the West and be gone from these lands until the end of Arda. He knew that I would get into everything he left behind eventually. He chose to leave all of his journals here, rather than destroy them or carry them with him." 

Elrohir nodded reluctantly. That much was true. 

"And did Ada ask of you, 'Roh, that you say me nay when I opened his locked chests and pulled forth these volumes? Well, did he?" Elladan continued, his dreamy gray eyes intent upon his twin's. 

"You know perfectly well that he did not." Elrohir replied, through gritted teeth. If their father had left his heir with that instruction, then Elrohir would have brought it up right off. 

"He knew that I would find his journals and read them. And he knew that I could persuade you to, eventually. Or that even if I didn't, that you couldn't stop me from doing as I will." Elladan smiled wryly, "At least not for long." 

True again, but...Elrohir glowered at his twin, "Does the fact that I am YOUR Lord, since our father's departure, not dissuade you?" 

Elladan considered that for a moment, before concluding, "No. Not really. You and I and Arwen all, we abdicated our claim to Imladris, in favor of Mithiriel and Ecthelion and their heirs. We travel so much, you and I, that we would have made poor rulers indeed. So, you are the head of the family, but not my Lord." With another touch of gentle humor, Elladan added, "And besides, Ada was my Lord as well as our father, and even HE couldn't stop us from doing as we willed on any number of occasions, if you will recall. 

True a third time. Yet, still... "It is not right, Elladan." 

"It is not right that you do not speak our father's name, if you can help it." Elladan countered quietly, fire for the first time flickering in his eyes. A flame like unto Elrohir's temper, which had been kindled since seeing their father's memory book in Elladan's hands, but different. Banked, where Elrohir's burned brightly. Sometimes, it was the opposite, and that gave Elrohir pause. The twin who could keep his temper the longest generally won any confrontation between the two of them, and today that seemed to be Elladan. And yet even his ire had been sparked, at last. 

"It is 'not right,'", Elladan continued, "That you do not speak our brother's name. Nor those of his daughters-by-law." 

Elrohir clenched his teeth, in anger or grief, even he was not sure. 

Softly, gently, Elladan concluded, "We all have our own ways of grieving, Elrohir. I miss Ada, and getting to know him better through his own words is my way of dealing with it, my comfort." Elladan left unvoiced that he thought his way better than Elrohir's, since Elladan's way didn't involve making others miserable. "Please, I beg of you, do not deprive me of this, or ask me to deprive myself. It wounds my heart when we are at odds." 

Elrohir silently conceded the argument by extending his hand to his twin. Elladan smiled his thanks, accepting the hand and then stepping lightly down onto Elrohir's bent knee, and then the floor, precious book safely tucked into his green brocade tunic. 

"You are impossible." Elrohir told him, pulling his twin close. 

His forehead lightly touching Elrohir's, Elladan agreed, *Yes. And you would know.*


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes: 
> 
>  
> 
> “...[S]ometimes you just want the comfort of knowing that somebody really does care about you (even if they show it in peculiar ways).”   
> ― Cara Lockwood, I Do (But I Don't)
> 
> “It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses. ”   
> ― Colette

Over the next few days, Elladan read their father's journals, and Elrohir tried to resist the allure. With some success at first, as it turned out that some of Tandesi's uneven sword play was due to a hairline fracture in her left wrist, which she'd successfully hidden not only from Elrohir, but also from Glorfindel and from Grace. A teenager who could manage that was well worth watching. Glorfindel and Elrohir set her to working with her off hand, until her worried Adar curtailed her training 'til the bone knitted completely. Tandesi, like all of this Elrond's children, was almost a quarter an elf, so that would not take particularly long. But it was long enough that it left Elrohir with time to contemplate his twin, and his twin's choice in reading materials. 

"Why now?" Elrohir snapped at Elladan, having never gotten an answer to that question during their earlier altercation. 

Elladan didn't have to ask what the question referred to. As the slightly annoyed young Lord Elrond once again made his increasingly feeble excuses and abandoned his study to his bickering predecessors, Elladan waved a casual hand in the air, not even looking up from his current journal. "'Why did I break into Ada's chests on this visit? That should be obvious, brother. Because Erestor has sailed, and because Daerada Celeborn is not here, of course." 

Even Elrohir had to laugh at that. "Erestor would not have approved." 

Elladan smiled impishly. "No. He's always been rather staid, like that." 

"Oh, just give me the first volume, already." Elrohir caved with a self-disgusted grimace. He'd been dying of curiosity. 

Chuckling, Elladan fished one of the more battered journals off of a low bookshelf built into the marble walls. "Here. This is the first. It starts perhaps a year after Uncle Elros sailed off to found Numenor. Adar was lonely then, and the journal was a gift from his cousin the Aran Ereinion Gil-galad. It was meant to break Ada of the rather disturbing habit he'd picked up of talking to himself." Elrond Peredhel's twin sons shared a moment of sad, perfect understanding for how their father must have felt, bereft of his twin. Elrohir reached forward to pull Elladan tightly against him, again. 

"Oof." Said Elladan, but it was not a complaint. He patted Elrohir's shoulder, and made room for his twin beside him on the cushioned window seat. "You can have all of the first shelf, there. I'm reading about the War of the Men and Elves and Sauron, now." 

Elrohir frowned, "You've made your way through 1,600 years of journals, already?" He hadn't thought that even Elladan was that fast of a reader. 

"Oh, no. I'm just skipping around to the most interesting parts." Elladan explained. 

"You are terrible, about that." Elrohir reproved lightly. "You have to read a series in order. Otherwise, how can you appreciate all of the nuances of its rich complexities?" 

Elladan rolled his eyes. "If it's all the same to you, bossy-ears, I'll read Ada's forbidden journals in whatsoever order I please." 

Elrohir abandoned the argument with a dismissive wave. It was an old disagreement, between the twins, and one not likely to ever be resolved. 

"Did you know," Elladan leaned forward animatedly, "That Ada was truly awful about so many things, when Glorfindel and the blue Wizards first sailed? Did you know that Ada KNEW those troublemakers? Did you know that..." 

"Elladan!" Elrohir objected sharply, "If you tell me what happens next I will smack you! Now hush, and let me read it on my own." 

The next several days passed amiably enough. Elladan and Elrohir read their father's journals in his study, while its current master indulgently -or indignantly, with some of Faramir's get it could be hard to tell - tolerated their invasion of his work space. Occasionally the sulking Tandesi joined them, to the mutual amusement of her twin several-times-great-uncles. The following third day, their harmony was disturbed. 

"Elrohir!" Called a loud, carrying voice, followed by a cacophonous banging. 

"Please do enter, Lord Glorfindel!" The young Lord Elrond answered hastily, probably hoping to save the integrity of his door. Either that, or his ear drums. Either twin could have assured him that this particular door could have stood up to Glorfindel in a hurry - after all, it had been redone and refashioned over the centuries until it could. 

"Ah, there you are!" Glorfindel said with satisfaction, upon spying Elrohir. Then his lips twitched with mirth as Elrohir winced, and tried to hide his father's journal behind his back. 

"About time the two of you got into those." The Balrog Slayer remarked cheerfully. 

Elladan smiled and nodded, while Elrohir almost dropped his book in surprise. 

"Share." Glorfindel ordered. Still stricken dumb, Elrohir obeyed, handing Glorfindel the earliest volume, which he had completed several days previously. The fierce elleth Grace, who had followed in Glorfindel's wake, looked on curiously until she ascertained that the objects of her friends' interest were all books. 

"I go find Mine." She told them, typically unimpressed with anything in written form. 

"That should be interesting." Elladan murmured. Elrohir sighed. He rather doubted that their friend and sworn-brother Melpomaen would be anything but unimpressed and disappointed in their current past-time. But that didn't answer his current question....

"Why?" Elrohir asked Glorfindel, "Don't you think that we should be respecting Adar's privacy? After all, if he'd wanted these read, he would have put them out on the shelf, not hidden in locked chests within locked chests." 

Glorfindel eyed Elrohir with kind, knowing eyes. "I miss him, too, guren. Knowing your father as I did, I cannot think that he would begrudge us this. Be irritated, yes, but honored as well." Casting a faintly chiding look at both twins, Glorfindel added, "I do think that he'd want me to be here to answer your questions, at least about those things which happened after 1600 S.A." 

"Oh, yes!" Elladan enthused, "I had wanted to ask you about...." 

"Hush!" Elrohir interrupted, "Elladan, I'm not even there yet!" 

Glorfindel chuckled, accustomed to his beloved students' antics, and made himself comfortable on Elladan's abandoned settee. 

Five hours later, Erestor's son Melpomaen found them still there, Lord Elrond Peredhel's many journals stacked carefully on tables around them. 

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves." The twins' long-time companion told them firmly, "Even you, Anatar." 

Glorfindel grinned toothily. "I like you when you're sassy, Melpomaen." 

Melpomaen ignored his father's grandfather in favor of appealing directly to Elrohir, "Really, 'Roh? You know that Ada would be distressed by this." Grace stood by Melpomaen's side, nodding solemnly. Elrohir frankly doubted whether the formally feral elleth even knew what the exact topic of conversation was about. She probably just wanted her normal playmates, Glorfindel and Elrohir, to finish mucking about inside with these boring books and go back to the arms practice and war games which would have normally consumed their fifth-day afternoon. 

"Your Ada would." Elrohir agreed guiltily. "But I'm not sure about mine - ours. Elladan thinks that he would find it acceptable..." 

Melpomaen laughed sharply, interrupting his Lord, "Oh, of course ELLADAN thinks that. And I'm sure that Elladan spent the first few days after our arrival closeted with the locksmiths and chemists just because Lord Elrond so very much wanted the two of you to read through his journals that he made it difficult enough to take Elladan that long and that much effort to get into." 

Elrohir gave his twin an annoyed look. It didn't faze Elladan in the slightest. 

"Ada always did like to challenge us." Elladan reminisced primly, "You know that, Melpomaen-our-brother." 

Melpomaen turned to Glorfindel in mute appeal. The Balrog Slayer had been just watching the proceedings with indulgent amusement. Now he grinned again, "Melpomaen, as you well know, Elrohir and Elladan are Lord Elrond Peredhel's heirs by blood and law. If anyone has a right to determine the disposition of his property - even his well-protected personal property - it would be them." 

"Come on, Mel..." Elladan said sweetly, appealingly, "Some of Ada's journals talk about the first time he met your father. You know, the story of the hawk and Ada making assumptions, only the whole story, this time." 

Elrohir, seeing Melpomaen weaken a little, added to his brother's pitch, "Your Ada was quite the absent-minded young scholar, when our Ada first took Erestor under his wing. As a matter of fact, he spent rather a large amount of time over Ada's knee, for things like...." 

"Stop!" Melpomaen cried out, giving both twins a reproving look. He was a master at it, having had many centuries of practice. Melpomaen sighed as this one fell far short of its desired effect. 

"I am very disappointed in all of you." Melpomaen told them calmly. "I will leave you to your disrespectful peeping." Melpomaen swept out of the room, doing an excellent impression of Erestor in righteous protest. Grace's soprano piped in his wake, cajoling the twins' long-time friend and advisor to join her outside. 

"200 years." Elladan stated, throwing one gold coin down on the table. 

"You have underestimated your gwador's curiosity, I think." Glorfindel commented, his sapphire blue eyes glinting. "He is also my wife's great-nephew, and Laureamoriel had more than her fair share of curiosity." 

"You're taking under, then?" Elrohir asked, as Glorfindel cast his own gold coin onto the table. 

"We're not doing over/under!" Elladan interrupted hastily, "The two of you always end up fleecing me on over/under gambles." 

"Only because you make it so very easy, guren." Glorfindel teased, pulling on one of Elladan's dark braids. 

"No over/under." Elladan said firmly, "You each have to name a specific year. Then whoever out of the three of us comes the closest gets a dozen hours of the losers' free time over a week, to do with as he pleases."

Glorfindel nodded his acceptance, "Very well. My guess is fifty years." He considered that for a moment, as Elrohir had yet to cast his coin, "No, make that fifty and one." 

"Like that matters, Glor." Elrohir teased in turn, tossing his coin. "I say that it will be one hundred and twenty years from today, until Melpomaen breaks and reads the first journal." That settled, the three returned to their reading. 

The sweet chill of early spring gave way to the riotous sunny splendor of summer in the hidden valley, while Elladan and Elrohir and Lord Glorfindel read of the many exploits of Lord Elrond in their father's and friend's own words. Glorfindel, finding the occasional exploit he hadn't known about or incensed by how differently Elrond had seen a given situation, would often "harrumph" or laugh at his young Lord's presumption, guile, and quick wit. He had no shame in pointing out examples of how and in what ways the twins took after their father. 

The twins, too, had known their father's history in broad strokes, better than did most of Middle Earth, but even they had been shocked by one adventure or another. 

"Glor," Elrohir exclaimed in impressed horror, "Did Ada actually give himself over as a hostage to SAURON, in order to win for the remaining elves of Eregion safe passage to his- your-army?" 

"Yeesss." Glorfindel growled, before sighing, and doing something that looked to Elrohir an awful lot like counting silently to ten a couple of times. "I was absolutely terrified for him. And for all of us, if we lost him."

"Ah..." said Elladan haltingly, "I guess its a good thing that worked out, then." 

Glorfindel smacked one hand down on the blue settee hard enough to scare away the black cat sleeping on the other end of it. "Yes, Elladan, it was. And good for your father's hide that we were too busy, then and for some time after he was rescued, for me to have a proper discussion with him about how very stupid I thought that particular stunt had been." 

"He mentioned that." Elladan pointed out, "And that he'd always remember how your eyes looked, in that moment. How he'd never seen them burn brighter - with worry and with fear and love, too." 

Glorfindel took another deep breath. Then, considering both twins, he related softly, "Yes, well, Elrond knew that he held my heart from the beginning. And sometimes - very rarely, but sometimes- he took terrible advantage of it." 

Moments of high emotion such as that reoccurred over irregular intervals as the three elves made their way through the journals. Elladan, with his way of hopping through them, reached the War of the Last Alliance first. 

"Oh, THIS is interesting..." He murmured, eyes as wide in genuine surprise as Elrohir had ever seen them. 

"Don't, Elladan." Elrohir reminded his twin for possibly the thousandth time since they'd started reading the journals, "I'M NOT THERE YET." 

"No, but really, 'Roh, you have to see this." Elladan argued, covering the top of the page with a large cloth book mark so that only the bottom paragraphs were visible. Glorfindel looked on curiously, as Elladan motioned over the young Lord Elrond as well. 

"Look - here." Elladan indicated, "Ada was planning to ADOPT your father, Elrond-dithen, if the Greenwood healers hadn't of let him stay with their army." 

Young Elrond blinked in surprise, much as his father likely would have, were Theli here for this revelation. Shocked, Elrohir shook his head, "That would have made your father Theli - who was our second cousin, had we but known it - our elder brother. Depending on the terms of that proposed adoption..." 

"Ada detailed them. Upon our birth, we would have taken his place in the succession, and on down through Arwen. So, in ultimate political terms, it would not have been too much a sea-change. But in personal terms...." 

"And in immediate political terms." Glorfindel interjected, "Remember, my elflings, at that point in time your father HAD NO HEIR. Nor hope of getting one quickly, since he was not yet married. The Vice-roy of Imladris, who was also Aran Ereinoin's heir, not to mention in the lines of succession for both Lothlorien and Greenwood, and he goes off adopting a young, untutored silvan elf of completely unknown antecedents...." Glorfindel chuckled and grinned, "Well, that would have set the cat among the pigeons right and properly, oh yes indeed." 

"Did you not know of it, Lord Glorfindel?" Young Lord Elrond asked, shocked. Elrohir was still reeling from the surprise a bit, himself, imagining how different it would have been to have grown up in a household where Theli was their father's elder adopted son. Where, by law if not blood, their second cousin who now ruled Imladris would be their nephew in fact. 

"I did not know of Elrond's plan to adopt your father." Glorfindel told Elrond's namesake kindly, "However, I DID know that he was making contingency plans, for if Oropher's healers had planned to send their crazy little runaway back home to the great wood. Your father was determined that Theli be permitted to stay with the army, as was his wish. To the extent that our Elrond had already set himself at odds with Oropher's elves, and even Ereinion, over the matter. Something which Elrond, diplomat that he was, did not do lightly." 

"Hunh." Commented Elladan, still bemused. "Well, that just shows that I was right to be jealous and resentful of Theli for so long, for his place in Ada's affections." 

"Ugh, 'Dan." Elrohir objected, tossing a pillow at his twin, while Glorfindel did the same. 

"No offense, little Elrond." Elladan offered their nephew. 

"Er...none taken, Uncle?" Young Elrond said, still not entirely sure that he understood all of what was going on. 

As the date of departure for their planned journey to Minas Tirith loomed closer, Elladan, with the help of young Lord Elrond and even the reluctant Melpomaen, found family members resident at Imladris who were competent enough scribes to begin transcribing two copies each of Lord Elrond's many journals. Glorfindel and Elrohir were, of course, hopeless at the task, and they, and Elladan, were still too busy reading, besides. But young Lord Elrond's wife, Miyala, and several of their grown sons, wrote a fine hand. As did Su-Tai, Faramir's grandson by his fourth daughter Haleth,. And also the twins' twice-great-niece Laerchiriel, the granddaughter of Aragorn's and Arwen's older daughter Melyanna. 

On one night several days before their planned departure for Minas Tirith, the twins and Glorfindel read late into the wee hours of the morning. The fires had gone out twice, and been lit again, and the stars of the morning were shining, when Elrohir picked up one of the last journals. Not to read- he wasn't there yet - but to set aside for Laerchiriel to copy for Arwen and her children. A letter fell out of the book. Elrohir frowned, and reached down to pick it up. 

'My Dearest Elladan,' the letter began, in their father's elegant handwriting. 'For I would be shocked, if it were not you to be the first to page through this book. By Eru and all of the Valar, I will miss you terribly, ion-nin, you and your brothers and sister. You will be always in my heart until we see one another again. I would far rather tell you more of the story of my life in person, but that, I fear, will not be possible for many years, and not at all in the case of your sister, and....' there Lord Elrond's fine hand faltered, 'perhaps yourself as well. So, please know that you have my blessing to open the memories of my past and pick them apart as you have always desired to do. Please love Arwen's and Estel's children for me, and share with them whatsoever from these volumes you would care to. Please know that I wish I were still with you, and that my dearest hope is to see you all again.' The letter continued in an affectionate tone, asking Elladan and his siblings to look upon their father kindly and to please, Eru, not feel it necessary to emulate every foolish thing he'd ever done, but Elrohir could not continue reading. Tears filled his eyes as he allowed himself at last to truly mourn his father, aye, and Aragorn, and so many others, too. 

Elladan and Glorfindel gave him space, at first. Which is what he would have wanted, Elrohir thought. What he'd actually wanted - or thought that he'd wanted - was never to have to realize how much he'd lost. Baby brothers - both of them, and baby sister, too, in time. And father and mother and younger sister, and cousin - almost brother - Theli, and his wife their granddaughter of the heart. 

Elladan came to him, and put a comforting arm around Elrohir. "Shh," He murmured to his twin, "It will be alright, Elrohir. I miss them, and will miss them, forever. But we still have time, with Arwen. And we will see Ada again, and Theli and Mithiriel and probably young Elrond's brother Nestor, as well." 

Elrohir forgot about being strong for himself, for Elladan, for everyone, and clung to his brother. Worst, worst of all, "We...'we'....my dearest brother. 'We' MIGHT see Ada again." 

"Whatever do you mean?" Elladan asked worriedly, trying to sooth his brother but in the strange and unpleasant position of not knowing exactly what troubled Elrohir. 

"He means, Elladan guren," Glorfindel explained, coming to kneel beside them both, "that he is worried -we all worry, from time to time- that we will lose you to the love of some fine human woman." 

Elladan paused in shock. 

"You can't say that you haven't thought of it." Elrohir accused brokenly, "Time and time again you've fallen in love with one human woman after another." 

Elladan remained quiet, struggling with what to say. 

"I couldn't bear it if you stayed, and died, Elladan." Elrohir whispered, "I should be the strong one, but I'm not, for that. I would fade if you stayed, if I lost you." 

Elladan shook his head fiercely, "It won't come to that....it won't!" He swore. 

"Of course it won't." Glorfindel soothed them both, "If Elladan does make Luthien's choice, and his chosen love is not also of her line," there Glorfindel had to pause, for no one exactly understood how it was that Mithiriel and Theli - and their children- had been given the option of choosing an elven life or a human one, after Theli had made Luthien's choice for Faramir's daughter. 

"If Elladan does become mortal," Glorfindel continued, his own voice broken up at the thought, "Then I shall carry you to the West, Elrohir. My word of honor upon it, to you and your twin. And so I already swore to your father, 'ere he sailed West." 

For a moment the three of them just sat together, entwined in an embrace of utmost love, fear of pain, and relief. Then Elladan, who could never leave a solemn moment in peace, had to ask in a vaguely affronted tone of voice, "How did Ada even know of my romantic interests, anyway?" 

"He wasn't blind, Elladan." Glorfindel pointed out dryly. "Oh, the three of you hid it well, but over time gossip gets out. And he's your father - I think he sensed it." 

"I don't plan on it, Elrohir." Elladan said more seriously, "I don't plan on falling in love with a human. I can swear to that. And I don't think that I will...they all seem so young now, differently so from when I was younger, from before the war. My focus is on you, now, my brother. On you and Arwen and our family - our large family. On keeping an eye on all of them, seeing that they reach their potential." Elladan nodded at the window, from which they could see Tandesi and her brothers in the early morning mist, playing a game involving balls and sticks with a dozen or so other younglings, human and elven in almost equal numbers. 

Elrohir nodded numbly, and squeezed his brother's wrist. Returning more to himself, he realized that he felt better than he had since Aragorn's funeral. Which led him to the unpleasant realization that, in his grief, he'd acted more than just a bit the jerk. He groaned. 

Elladan and Glorfindel exchanged knowing looks and quick-silver, there-and-gone-again smiles. 

"Why didn't either of the two of you just say something?!" Elrohir objected aggrievedly, only to be answered by Glorfindel's loud guffaws. 

Elrohir's twin brother just sat beside Elrohir, rolling his eyes and sighing, as Glorfindel lay on the carpet and laughed until tears came out of the sides of his eyes. 

"What he means, brother," Elladan explained with dry affection, "Is that it can be somewhat hard to 'just tell' you things. You don't listen until you're ready. Much like Ada, in some ways." 

Elrohir leaned his head back against the rose-veined marble of the study, shut his eyes, and just thought for a moment. Again, Elladan had spoken the truth. Finally, he sighed, and looked apologetically to his brother and his mentor. 

"I'm sorry. I'll try to make it up to you." 

Glorfindel, somber again, shook his head. As did Elladan, explaining, "No. Not to us, there is no need. We have been through too much together, gwanur. But you should make it up to young Elrond, and to his children." 

"And to everyone else we've visited in the past several years." Glorfindel added dryly, before correctly himself, "Well, except for Arwen and Eldarion and the girls. You've been good with them, Eru bless you, Elrohir, but you've been a right prat to poor Faramir, amongst others." 

Elrohir winced, but could not disagree. Nor could he forgive himself so easily as they had just forgiven him. 

"I...." He began, holding up a hand and then dropping it. He didn't know how to say it, how to ask for what he needed. 

Elladan and Glorfindel seemed to understand, without Elrohir having to verbalize that he thought he deserved a spanking, and more, needed the catharsis and comfort that would follow. They didn't say anything either, not at first. After a moment, Elladan rose seamlessly to his feet, and offered Elrohir his hand. Doubt as well as affection were plain in Elladan's gray eyes, and Elrohir felt a stab of guilt pierce his heart, for the doubt. He had, on several occasions, put Elladan over his knee for a sound lessoning several times since their father's departure. But never had their positions been reversed. 

It was not that Elrohir didn't respect his twin - but he had always looked after Elladan. Or at least, felt that he had to. In truth, that bond had always gone both ways. He protected Elladan, aye, but mostly his physical safety, while Elladan protected Elrohir's heart, and his privacy, and his need to be the protector. They were equals, and yet, there was still some doubt in Elladan's heart of hearts that they were truly equal. Yet he did not judge Elrohir for that, nor take this opportunity to force an acknowledgement of his own strength and worth. Instead, his hand was just that- a hand up, to his feet. Unless Elrohoir wanted it to be more. And that was why Glorfindel was also here - in case Elrohir could not accept his twin's hand for the cleansing that he needed. 

This time, Elrohir could. He accepted Elladan's hand, pulling back with enough weight that Elladan nearly lost his feet. Elladan half-grinned back at him, knowing that as his taciturn twin's way of saying that he trusted Elladan to pull his own weight, always. Even in this, as unpleasant as it would be. 

"I am proud of you both, you know." Glorfindel told them quietly, as they turned to leave. "And I know that your father would be - will be - as well. Trust me on that." 

And they both did, for Glorfindel had known their father's mind well. Elrohir held to that during the difficult interval that followed with his twin. Elladan had a hard hand, perhaps not quite so hard as Elrohir himself and most certainly softer than Glorfindel's. But Elrohir's twin meant to help him learn a lesson in complete earnest, and Elrohir cried well before Elladan was done with him. After it was over, though, Elrohir felt much better. And grateful, first for learning that by denying his pain, he had only taken it out on others. And secondly because Elladan now knew - or at least should know- how much Elrohir esteemed him. 

Over their last few days in Imladris, Elrohir dedicated himself to making sure that he spent time with his nephews and nieces. He learned how to play the stick-and-ball game, finding it unexpectedly fun. He also told them stories, including some that he'd just learned from his father's journals. Cleaned up, of course, since Elrond had spared himself nothing when writing in his memory books. Sitting in the light of the late spring garden, with nephews and nieces and their human and elven friends gathered around him, Elrohir realized that this was exactly what his father would have wanted. Imladris still in bloom, long after his departure. And many grandchildren, each different and beautiful in their own way.


	27. Stolen Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the darker rumors about elves are true. In Arnor, the people whispered...'Have a care of the elves...for they will steal your children away.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Please note that this was written as a challenge response, with the challenge to include a famous quote from literature, so I have the quote woven into the story at one point. 
> 
> A/N 2: My sincere appreciation goes out to African Daisy and to Sparx, who reviewed an earlier draft of this story and gave me some excellent suggestions. 
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> "Come away, O human child!   
> To the waters and the wild   
> With a faery, hand in hand,   
> For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."  
> — William Butler Yeats, The Stolen Child

'My dear Father,' wrote Elrohir Elrondion, 'I find that I miss you even more than I had expected. I do not think that I am ready to be the 'head' of our family on Middle Earth. Of course, Daerada Celeborn helps, and Erestor and Glorfindel, too. And my dear twin, in his own inimitable way. 

But neither Daerada nor I have ever known what to say to Arwen. Nor does Erestor. I think that Glorfindel might know, but if he does, he's keeping it to himself. When I complain about the foolishness of Arwen choosing to bear a child so soon after her marriage to Aragorn, he just smiles that cursedly infuriating smile of his - you know the one- and tells me to mind my own affairs! My younger siblings' idiotic decisions ARE my affairs, which he should perfectly well know!' 

Elrohir paused to dip his quill in the inkpot again, and frowned. 

'Although I might be overestimating just how helpful you would be in this particular situation, Ada. For all I know, you would just take Arwen's part. Some of the most impressive lectures you and Naneth ever gave me were for interfering in her ridiculous and ill-considered ventures.' 

Elrohir put down his quill again as he remembered a particular windy morning in the shadow of Emyn Uial, called by Men the Hills of Evendim. He and his younger siblings Arwen and Belemir and their escort had been riding along the Lindon river, on their way back from a visit to Lord Cirdan in Mithlond. 

Elrond's heir had awoken to find breakfast made and the horses all readied for departure. And, oh yes, a small, filthy little girl wrapped in Belemir's warmest cloak, sitting cuddled on Arwen's lap, being hand-fed bacon and honey-sweet porridge. 

The previous day their party had passed through a small, poor village along the river Lindon. Arwen and Thenithol, one of their guards, had gone to the little hamlet's one blacksmith to have Arwen's horse re-shod. In the course of which they'd observed the man beating his only daughter bloody. Thenithol had intervened, because if he hadn't, Arwen would have. They'd ended up leaving the village hastily, with Arwen's eyes still on the the blacksmith's stall, sharp and gray and intent.

Arwen's slightly older brother Belemir, who should have known better, had been encouraging her. He'd spoken quietly of how a child might be taken away, in the night, with no one else aware. 

Elrohir, who had overheard, had absolutely forbid his youngest siblings from taking action. He'd been understanding as well as firm, counseling them that there was nothing which could be done, now. Promising the two little crusaders that they could come back in a season, or have one of Cirdan's elves do so. But he'd clearly told them that nothing could be done, now. The humans already whispered dark rumors about elves stealing children. 

For that reason- that very good reason - Elrohir had told them no, not to take the child. So of course, of course, here was Arwen with the little girl in her arms, and the entire camp - every elf of them - prepared to leave at a moment's notice. Traitors. Pawns in the hands of Imladris' youngest Lady and Lord. Or at the very least, accessories after the fact. Elrohir would run them all ragged on the practice fields, once they were all back safe, at Imladris. If they made it there. 

"Muinthel-laes," Elrohir warned his baby sister, while pulling off his belt, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't tan your hide 'til it glows, and at my earliest possible convenience." His forbidding expression made it clear that 'his earliest possible convenience' might be right here, right now, although they all knew that wouldn't be possible. 

Arwen didn't even bother to look at him. She was infuriating. She was....comforting the poor child, who was now terribly afraid of Elrohir, and worried that her brave rescuer Arwen might suffer the same fate she had been rescued from by Arwen. 

It was Belemir who gave their eldest brother a disappointed look. Well, him and Thenithol and all the rest of their escort, including dour Lieutenant Duathben and Samnolas the sculptor, who was normally quite the cloud-gatherer. It was a truly impressive range of elves to have upset with him, and Elrohir would feel almost proud of himself if he weren't feeling so dismayed and a little guilty. Well, he'd scared a child, so rather a lot guilty. 

"For shame, iaur muindor," Belemir scolded lightly, "Can't you see that you've made poor little Elsa take a fright?" 

Elrohir cleared his through uneasily. "Ah, yes. I'm sorry, ah, Elsa." He knelt down near her. She shrank against Arwen, who raised cold gray eyes to meet Elrohir's repentant gaze. Arwen softened a little at seeing his genuine sorrow and guilt for upsetting the child. 

"Shh, shh, sweet little one." She soothed, in her lyrically accented Westron. Elrohir could just imagine her, waking the child up with a sweet biscuit in one hand and a doll in the other. 

""Come away, O human child!" He could just hear her whisper enticingly. Describing Imladris in a soothing lilt, "[t]o the waters, and the wild." 

Come, Arwen would have promised. 'It is not so scary. You will not be alone. Come with me, come, "[w]ith a faery, hand in hand." 

"For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand," she would have mourned with little Elsa. 

'But I'll protect you.' Arwen would have sworn, fierce as well as sweet. 'He will never harm you again. Nor his ilk. I will find you a safe place to live, and teach you to protect yourself. I promise it, by all the stars above. Yes, sweetling, those stars, who have comforted you as you cry every night. Shhh, shh, it's alright, it's safe...' 

"Come away with me, O human child." 

And Elsa had come. She was Arwen's responsibility now. Since Arwen was in turn Elrohir's responsibility, that made Elsa his, as well. But she wouldn't talk to him or look at him now, and they had to ride. 

"I'll tell the girl I'm sorry again later, Arwen." He said, once he'd stood up again, trying not to see his dear friend Melpomaen's elflinghood nightmares in the little child's frightened eyes. "Belemir," he directed sternly, "make sure that the child has everything she needs. Arwen, just...just keep doing what you're doing. Keep her calm." 

Elrohir turned to their guards, "We need to ride hard and fast. There will be no detour to Annuminas to visit the King." The soldiers all nodded. They'd expected this. The saddlebags carrying their provisions bulged; someone had done extra hunting in the night, so that they could move quickly now. The traitors. No time to dwell on it now. 

"Duathben," Elrohir directed, "Take two guards, and fan out behind us. I want to know if anyone follows us from that misbegotten village, or from the nearest garrison of Arnor. Thenithol, I want you and Haldanar to ride at your best possible speed for Annuminas. Requisition fresh mounts as you go if you need to." He ordered, tossing them a substantial bag of coin, "Let our ambassador and Elladan and Melpomaen know what's happened. Tell my twin and our gwador to meet us at their best pace. They'll know where." 

Thenithol frowned, "Elrohir, I think that Lord Elladan or Lord Melpomaen might BE the ambassador, just now. Lord Arandil expected to be recalled to Imladris sometime this autumn, over some concern about a trade dispute with Edhellond." 

Elrohir mentally cursed the too-blasted clever Prince of Dol Amroth, then said, "Well, tell them to use their discretion then, but make sure that at least Elladan comes to meet us." Melpomaen could convincingly claim complete innocence when it came to Elrond's family abducting human children, again. He'd done it before, a time or two. The most harrowing of those incidents had even been Elrohir's fault. 

Thenithol nodded, and took off. Duathben led the force guarding their rear, and Elrohir drove them their party forward as fast as possible. It was unlikely that the alcohol-addled blacksmith would be able to organize an effective pursuit after his daughter, but it was not impossible. 

When Elsa was sound asleep and they were paused at a cold camp to let the horses rest, Elrohir took the opportunity to lecture Arwen. 

"Wait, I told you!" He whispered fiercely, "Wait a year. Wait even a month, or a week. A month would be better, but curse it all, Arwen! He's going to know that it was us! We don't need more fuel for the rumors about elves stealing human children!" 

"A day would have been too long!" Arwen argued back, just as fiercely, tossing her midnight-black hair. "Half a day was too long, Elrohir! For the Valar's sake, LOOK AT HER!" 

Elrohir could see the bruises and the cuts just fine. And he knew that this - this taking away of children from abusive caregivers and finding them a home where they could be loved and cherished and nurtured- was a family tradition. Elrohir had done it, by himself or with Elladan and sometimes Melpomaen, some half a dozen times, although the last had caused no end of trouble. 

Their father Elrond had done it, and Aran Ereinion had at least turned a blind eye at human children disappearing in his realm, at the same time that extra small passengers appeared on the manifests of ships bound to Numenor. Elrond had said that it was his foster-father, from whom Elrond and Elros had first come aware that children might be spirited away from harm. For years Elrohir had thought that his father had meant Lord Cirdan. It was only recently that he'd realized that Elrond had actually been referring to Maglor Feanorion, whose name their father did not often speak. 

Elrohir had even known that Glorfindel had helped his father to steal children, and that the balrog slayer had done so by himself, on occasion. Although often he had to be pressured into just doing something so non-confrontational as stealing. Elrohir and Elladan had both witnessed Glorfindel threaten to replicate every whip lash and bruise on the person of a master beating his apprentice. And Elrohir remembered a week when there had been shouting matches between his normally calm father and Glorfindel, something about it being inadvisable and also cruel to a tiger to leave the cat in a tormented child's bed after stealing said child. That had been just after Erestor adopted Melpomaen, when Elrond and Galadriel had ordered Glorfindel to let Rumil tag along at his feet for several years. When Elrohir had asked his adopted uncle why, Rumil had explained that it was because he didn't like to kill even animals. Glorfindel had caustically called the pale elven youth 'soft,' but there had been reluctant gratitude in his eyes when he did so, as well as fondness. Elrohir had decided not to ask any more questions. Well, Elladan had decided so, but Elrohir had agreed. Neither of them had told Melpomaen, or Erestor. Elrond had carefully scheduled the shouting matches about the tiger around when Erestor and Melpomaen were busy elsewhere, and the twins had decided not to question their father's judgment in that particular instance. 

But here and now, isolated in Arnor amongst thousands of the humans, Elrohir had to be the hard one, because if they stole every child the humans didn't appreciate, then their human kindred would become their enemies and hunt them down, 'til all the elves were dead or fled. 

"She'd survived five years in that house, Arwen. She would have survived another blasted week." Elrohir hissed. 

"She's eight, muindor." Belemir spoke up, defending Arwen, as he always did. "She's been fed and cared for so poorly that she just LOOKS three years younger." 

Elrohir gritted his teeth. 

"Plus, I bribed the blacksmith's brother." Belemir continued, "And the village mayor. And the chief of what passes for their village guard." 

"You did. Of course you did." Belemir started to speak up, probably to elaborate, but Elrohir just held up a hand, wondering if this was how his father felt with him and Elladan. 

"I don't want to hear anymore about it." He instructed Belemir firmly. "No more about any of it until we're home. Do the two of you understand?" Arwen and Belemir both nodded solemnly. The ride was much quieter, after that. Once they skirted the edge of the shire, Elladan joined them. It was a relief to everyone, perhaps even especially Elrohir, when Elladan opined that none of the trauma Elsa had suffered should permanently impair her faculties. 

It was good for Elrohir to have his twin brother back, because as assuredly as Elrohir often kept Elladan from doing stupid things and putting his foot in their mouth, Elladan kept Elrohir from doing the same. Elladan had Elsa smiling and unafraid of Elrohir in less than a day. 

"Arwen was right, you know." Elladan irritatingly insisted, as he took a turn cuddling the sleeping Elsa. "From the way that she and Belelmir and Thenithol described Elsa's father, he could have snapped at any time. Killed her, killed himself, killed them both. At any time. A day might have been too late. A year most likely would have been." 

"Bah." Said Elrohir, who did not like to admit to being wrong. 

After they crossed the bridge over the river Mitheithel, home-free now to Imladris, Arwen rode up even with Elrohir. 

"Thank you." She said, her great heart shining from her luminous gray eyes. "Thank you, iaur muindor. For getting us home safe. I don't think that anyone else could have done it as well." 

As long as his baby sister looked at him like that, Elrohir thought that he could put up with the stupid things that she did. Especially when he understood the impulse. But that hadn't stopped him from going to their father, and demanding that Arwen and her foolish impulsiveness be dealt with most firmly. 

"Mmm-hmmm." Lord Elrond had replied, just looking at his oldest son and heir with some emotion Elrohir couldn't even read. Though it seemed irritatingly almost like fond amusement, to Elrond's heir. 

"Well, aren't you going to do anything to punish her, Ada?" Elrohir complained, "Confine her to quarters, send her to Daernaneth Galadriel when she's in a mood, have Naneth spank her, I don't know, anything?" 

"Elrohir, as...laudable, as your protective instincts towards your youngest sister are, I find it rather....ripe, that it is you who is complaining about Arwen stealing a child at an inopportune time." 

"She couldn't even wait a day!" Elrohir said, aggrieved, "Even that time, I waited a whole month!" 

Lord Elrond leaned forward, putting a gentle hand on his agitated son's cheek. "Yes, you waited a month, ion-muin-nin. And you did a good thing. But the child you stole was the son of a royal lord. It took me three years and more gold than I care to think of to set that aright. Erestor still has nightmares about the paperwork." 

"She couldn't even wait a day." Elrohir repeated resignedly. 

Elrond laughed. "You cost me a fortune and three treaties, and all I did to you was to send you to stay in the Greenwood so that you would be out of the reach of Arnor's laws. Knight or no, I would have feared for your life had our cousin the King caught you." 

"Arwen gets away with everything." Elrohir complained later, to his twin. 

"Generally, yes. It's the prerogative of the youngest elfling, particularly if she's an elleth." Elladan replied with enviable equanimity. "Or at least that's what all the psychology scrolls say." 

Elrohir left his memories behind with a mental laugh. He was glad that he still had his twin and his youngest sister. He'd miss his father until they reunited in the West, and he'd miss his brother Belemir, dead these many centuries after marrying and dying to protect a human, until the day that Arda ended. But he was glad that he still had Elladan and Arwen, and it was with that in mind that he returned to his letter. 

'Strangely enough, Adar, I miss even your lectures. You were so very good at them. I never know when to yell versus when to soothe or berate. Elladan says that I'm terrible at it, and since Melpomaen and Arwen and Aragorn all agree, I am forced to accept that it is probably true.' 

Elrohir's letter-writing was interrupted again as the agitated Prince of Dol Amroth led a party into the long gallery in the King's House, where Elrohir had taken to conducting his correspondence. He was not generally an avid writer, so frequent interruptions were welcome. Elrohir put his writing materials aside and sat up with interest, as this interruption promised to be even more entertaining than the norm. 

"You have got to leave off doing underhanded, manipulative things such as bribing people, Faramir!" Prince Imrahil lectured his nephew, the Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, who was doing a relatively bad job of looking contrite. Well, bad for Faramir, so for most humans it would be pretty good. But it didn't fool his maternal uncle, more's the pity for Faramir. Who was normally better at hiding whatever manipulative things he was up to. Frighteningly so, for those who cared about him. But Imrahil was one of the best at catching Faramir at something, and would not let it go, so Elrohir smirked a bit at the Prince of Ithilien's unhappiness. He was not at all averse to seeing Faramir receive a rare comeuppance. 

"You are responsible for the laws of Gondor, nephew! You ARE the highest law, save the King!" Imrahil thundered quietly at his nephew. 

"What did you even do, Faramir?" Asked the confused Aragorn. Elrohir sneered at his baby foster-brother, who really should know what was going on. Not that Elrohir did, but Aragorn was the King, and the husband of Elrohir's very pregnant sister, who appeared somewhat distraught. Her distress probably had something to do with Faramir being in trouble, and it was Aragorn's responsibility to fix that, and he wasn't doing it fast enough. 

"You can't keep going around bribing people to circumvent the laws of our Kingdom just to make events turn out as you deem fit!" Imrahil continued, as if Aragorn hadn't even spoken. Elrohir smirked. 

"Peace, Prince Imrahil." Arwen ordered, every inch the Queen as she laid a gentle hand on Faramir's arm, a silent but eloquent statement of her support of him. "Faramir did nothing more than give to a poor grandmother sufficient funds to show a member of the orphans' guild that she was financially stable enough to support her grandson, to get the poor child away from an abusive step-father." 

"Yes, thank you, Your Majesty." Prince Imrahil said, calmer in the face of the pregnant Arwen but still unusually formal, which seemed to Elrohir to be some sort of odd Dol Amroth scolding mechanism. "However," Imrahil continued more sarcastically, "My sources in the city are aware of where that money came from, and that Faramir had a role in it. Which is unacceptable." 

Faramir frowned, and finally opened his mouth. Only to have the most unexpected person intervene on his behalf. 

"The money was mine." Asserted Ynithe, the Queen's most proper lady-in-waiting, "Mistress Sirien - the grandmother - is a cousin of my former nursemaid. When Faramir alerted me to her grandson's plight, I made her a personal loan. There is no law against that." Lady Ynithe lifted her aristocratic chin, as if to dare Imrahil to contradict her, or condemn what she'd done. 

Imrahil ignored Ynithe, and glared at his nephew. "There is a law against the Steward of Gondor facilitating it." 

"Technically, I don't think..." Faramir began, only to cut himself off when Aragorn stepped on his foot. 

Elrohir watched all of this closely, wondering to himself how the situation which had led to this fascinating conversation might have first evolved. In his mind's eye, he could see Arwen, walking through the city with Faramir and Ynithe as she'd planned to do today, visiting markets and school rooms and different guild halls, the type of 'keeping your finger on the pulse of your people' thing that Queens were wont to do. 

Elrohir could see her suddenly coming upon this stepfather, beating his dead wife's son. Elrohir could clearly picture Arwen's normally warm gray eyes alighting from within with a fierce flame, her face turning from ethereally beautiful to both beautiful and terrible and resolute. Arwen was not human, and when she was angry at a perceived injustice, it showed. More, Arwen was the granddaughter of Galadriel and the great-great granddaughter of Luthien, and she had not just the charm and beauty of that lineage but also the darkside, the strength and the implacability. Arwen could be cold and dangerous, when she was protecting someone she thought needed her strength. And in such moments, Arwen appeared frightening, and inhuman. 

Meanwhile, it was Faramr's purpose, and Ynithe's, to make their Queen appear exotic but also loving and human, a long-lost cousin of Numenor returned home at last, a flower of the virtues of the forebearers, come to rule beside their King in beauty and understanding. 

Oh, yes, Elrohir could see Arwen's eyes turning dangerous, her anger and protectiveness called forth beyond what she could bear without seeming more, and other, than human. He could see Faramir, gently taking the Queen's arm and leading her into one of the houses in the lower city where those handicapped by the war were being re-trained to other occupations, or a similar place. A destination in which anger would be assumed to be anger at Sauron, at the enemy, at those who had crippled their people, and determination would be seen as the determination to help them as much as possible. Ynithe, at his sister's other side, would be loudly telling her Queen that the Enemy had indeed caused great damage, and that there were some things which could be done, and some which required more money or attention, could the Queen perhaps look into them? And of course the Queen could. And Faramir and Ynithe between them had given a good, socially acceptable cover for Arwen's steely rage and mithril resolution, one that made her seem even more the human Queen Gondor would want, instead of the dangerous loose arrow that Arwen could be when she saw socially sanctioned injustice. 

If Faramir and Ynithe hadn't done something to protect the poor abused boy, then Arwen would have. Faramir had protected Arwen, and so Aragorn - and even Elrohir - should step into protect Faramir. Elrohir sighed, and prepared to get up and insert himself into what had so far been an enormously entertaining skit. 

"You are quite right, Imrahil." Aragorn said, slapping Faramir's thigh gently to keep him quiet whilst making eye contact with Imrahil. "Obviously, the entire structure and duties of the orphans' guild require a review. And also of the, er, ..." 

Elrohir sat back down, because apparently Aragorn could handle this, however annoyingly he'd set out to do so. 

Arwen made a disgusted face at her husband's lack of knowledge. Faramir shook his head, but supplied, "We don't have a guild for that. The wives of the council representative for each level of the city have traditionally been the ear to whom complaints about the mistreatment of children could be spoken, but it was informal and continues to be insufficient." 

"Well, that, then." Aragorn concluded, "We should fix that." Elrohir rolled his eyes. His youngest foster-brother was entirely smarter than he was acting right now. Aragorn just acted less intelligent to make the people around him do more of the work and to defuse situations such as this. It was extremely irritating, to Elrohir. Legolas did it, too. Elrohir wasn't sure if Aragorn had learned it from Legolas, or if the two of them had developed it independently of each other and then complemented one another later on what bright young lights they were. Both annoyed Elrohir greatly when they pretended to be idiots. If he ever again heard Legolas say, "Oh! You mean a diversion!" as if the elven prince did not have a brain in his head, Elrohir was going to throw his favorite idiot baby cousin into a fountain. 

Imrahil seemed not to know that Aragorn was just pretending to be stupid and clueless, or at least mostly just pretending. The Prince of Dol Amroth put a hand to his head and sighed. "Aragorn, I have the utmost respect for you as my King and as a leader of men, but you really have never progressed beyond the point of having your second in command write up all of your reports, have you?" Imrahil said this with the deep sincerity and depth of dismay that a man could only have if he had once been that long-suffering executive officer. Which Imrahil had, of course, been, during the battles with the corsairs when Aragorn had been in Gondor as Thorongil. 

"Ah...No, not really, my Rahi." Aragorn concluded ruefully, "I suppose that I never have." 

"Poor Faramir." Arwen murmured sympathetically, putting her delicate hand again on his arm, as she had once done to her brother Belemir. Elrohir was shaken, again, by how very much Faramir resembled Belemir. Not in appearance, although there was something, perhaps, about the way the youth stood. But in spirit, Faramir was so very much like Belemir. 

From the expression on Faramir's face, he felt that the Queen's sympathy was quite well-deserved. He might even have murmured 'lucky me,' a few moments ago, but even Elrohir with his near-elven hearing could not be sure of that. 

"Help us out, then, eh, Rahi?" Aragorn appealed to Imrahil, looping a companionable arm around the younger man's shoulders, "Faramir is overworked as it is, and I recall Dol Amroth having a fairly good support structure for parents who are having troubles, or more than troubles." 

Imrahil sighed, and agreed, with a fond if exasperated look directed at his only surviving nephew. 

Elrohir considered all of them. Arwen, catching his gaze, lifted an eyebrow in inquiry. 

"Yes, I'm writing to Adar. Yes, I'll be done by the time that Haldanar is ready to sail, so that he can carry the letter to the West." He replied, knowing her question already. 

"Good." She said, and she smiled at him, her great loving heart shining out from her luminous gray eyes. Shining just for him, in this moment. Just for her oldest brother. And with that, Elrohir knew that he'd be stuck protecting her, and protecting Faramir, who'd taken Belemir's place in always supporting her, for all of the rest of her life. And he wasn't sorry about it. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, I'd love to hear from you! Either way, thank you very much for reading!


	28. Little Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of what Melpomaen does as a scribe is minding the little details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: Maca is a root that the Incans historically would chew for energy. It is supposed to help athletes achieve, and, hmm, overachieve. 
> 
> A/N 2: Thanks to everyone who pays attention to the little details! May no embarrassing ones slip by us!

Melpomaen picked up yet another trade tariff form off of a stack sitting half an elf high on Lord Erestor's desk, smiling a little to himself. To the young scribe, one of the very exciting things about working for Lord Erestor at famous Imladris was getting to send mail all over the world. Yes, filling out these forms so that the robes, crockery, jewelry, and other sundries that Imladris was exporting to Khand got there at a lower rate of tax was....repretitive, and rather boring. Even Melpomaen had to admit that. But they were sending goods to Khand! And Melpomaen was corresponding with a Khandian scribe to help it all happen smoothly. 

Melpomaen quickly finished filling in the required information of Elrond's city, his factor in Khand, and the type of goods being shipped, and then reached for another form. 

"You are a brave young ellon, Melpomaen." Erestor praised him - or teased him - perhaps a bit of both? The wise advisor's dark eyes were kind, and fond. But the twinkle in those eyes told Melpomaen that Erestor was finding something in the situation to be a bit humorous. 

Melpomaen smiled back, "I like the thought that I am making commerce happen, here in this room with this small quill." 

Erestor laughed, a full bright sound that Melpomaen had rarely heard. Melpomaen smiled again, this time delighted to have made his sombre new supervisor laugh. 

"I am glad that you are here, my young friend." Erestor said, putting an arm around Melpomaen's shoulders. "To help me remember why we press on through these tedious tasks. That there is some use in it. Aye, and a bit of glory as well." 

Melpomaen's cheeks pinkened with pride and pleasure at the compliment, and he dedicated himself all the more intently to his task. But by the fortieth scribing of "Elrond, Lord of Imladris"....."Gao Yu Shan, Factor of Elrond in the City of Peace"....silk....silk....silk again. We affirm that our product contains no worms. ....no worms.....no mice....no fleas....." 

Well, Melpomaen was pretty tired of filling out the forms, and if anything, the slightly more interesting forms filled out by Lord Erestor and Lord Elrond which Melpomaen and Erestor had to review were even worse. Longer, and full of more numbers and names that didn't really make sense to Melpomaen yet, even as hard as he was trying to learn them. Yesterday he'd caught Elladan and Elrohir in an agreeable mood, and they'd helped him sort out some of the proper names of who was who in this faceless paper bramble. But today Lord Elrond's twin sons were avoiding him. Melpomaen didn't really blame them. He could understand why one might see this as boring. He just hoped they'd come back around after Lord Erestor told him to leave off for the night. 

It was almost getting to that time. Melpomaen decided that he would finish reviewing one last form. One of Lord Elrond's, about a shipment of worked leather to go to the northernmost city in Khand. The first part was normal, correct, perfectly worded in Lord Elrond's elegant handwriting. Then...the handwriting was still beautiful...but....

Blinking in confusion, Melpomaen looked up, "Sir? Are we trading catnip, maca and healing unguents to the Khandian city-states?" 

Erestor blinked, equally as confused. "Noooo." He drew out the word speculatively, leaning over Melpomaen' shoulder to take a look at the form. Then Erestor chuckled. "No, Melpomaen, we are not trading those healing supplies. Elrond must have been daydreaming and making lists for his stillroom while he was supposed to be doing paperwork as Lord rather than healer." Erestor shook his head in affectionate exasperation. 

Melpomaen's eyes widened. He couldn't imagine the elegant, sombre Lord of Imladris ever making such a mistake! 

Reaching out to pat the younger ellon's shoulder, Erestor assured him, "Melpomaen, I promise, the Lord of Imladris is just like any other elf. All of us make mistakes. I'm glad for your careful ways and sharp eye. That was a good catch." Erestor smiled at him again, and then excused Melpomaen for the evening and went off, probably in search of his lord. 

A slight breeze from the direction of a balcony alerted Melpomaen to the presence of Lord Elrond's two grinning, identical sons. 

"I'll bet that is going to give Erestor something to hold over Ada for the next who-knows-how-long!" Observed Elladan with a chuckle. 

"That's not very...." Melpomaen began in mild reproof. 

"Ha!" Elrohir replied to his brother, as if Melpomaen hadn't even spoken, "If Ada thinks that Erestor's teasing is going to be his biggest problem, he'll be in for a surprise when Glorfindel hears that the stillroom and the apothecary are stocking maca again at all. His soldiers went mad for it last time, and he told Ada never again..." 

"That's really none of our..." Melpomaen tried again. 

"I'd like to try maca." Elladan commented with interest. 

"Maybe..." Began Elrohir, equally as intrigued.

"No." Said Melpomaen firmly. "If you do, I'll tell Lord Glorfindel." 

The twins stared at him in surprise. For a moment, Melpomaen was afraid that this might be the thing he'd do, that would lose him their friendship. No one liked being told what to do, but he couldn't just let them go off experimenting substances which were unknown to him but apparently too dangerous for Lord Glorfindel - who had low standards of personal health and safety, in Melpomaen's opinion - to approve of for his soldiers. 

Then the moment was gone. The twins smiled at him, half-proud and part-amused and maybe just a little bit abashed. But not for long. 

Elladan's smile turned into a grin. "I think that I'm going to go tell Glorfindel that I'm curious about the effect that taking some maca before sparring with him tomorow would have." 

Elrohir chortled. "Good idea." 

As the twins turned to go off and cause more mayhem, as was their nature, Melpomaen marveled, "You can't possibly think that you'd be getting your father in trouble, could you? After all, he's the Lord of Imladris!" Who would dare take Lord Elrond to task, Melpomaen wondered. 

Elladan shuddered. "You don't want to know. Or rather we don't want to think about it." 

"He can usually hold his own, though." Elrohir spoke up for their father. "But buying and storing maca again will pluck Glorfindel's strings. And Nana's. And Erestor is going to ever-so-respectfully needle Ada about almost contracting to send the Khand-men aphrodisiacs and strength-potions, for, well, forever." 

"That's one to remember, for certain." Elladan agreed with cheerful relish, and Melpomaen could just see the younger twin writing this down later, in a journal entitled, "Things to hold over my elders." 

"For certain." Elrohir agreed. He gave Melpomaen a nod and a smile, this time a respectful one. "Good catch, Melpomaen. Good eye." 

"It was just a little detail." Melpomaen protested, embarassed. 

"Little details are important." Elladan assured him, before taking Melpomaen's arm and yanking him along with them to go tease the Balrog Slayer. Melpomaen was terrified, but he was often terrified around Glorfindel, so that shouldn't queer the twins' pitch, whatever it was. There was nothing at all malicious about Lord Elrond's sons. Melpomaen didn't have to fear that what they were doing would be anything worse than foolish. So Melpomaen just went along with them. It was never a boring evening, dragged along in the wake of the Elrondionnath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're so inclined, I love reviews.


	29. Consequences Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melpomaen still has some important things to learn about being Erestor's son. But that's fair enough, as Erestor still has a lot to learn about being a father. A visit from Erestor's parents does not necessarily help matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1: This story was written in response to a prompt from Holly, requesting a story where, for the first time after Melpomaen becomes Erestor's son, he gets into trouble with the twins and has to face Erestor for the first time as Adar, and is afraid to lose Erestor's love. Hope that you like this one, Holly! I started this story almost four years ago in 2010. It's nice to have gotten a good reason to come back and finish it. As I was doing so, however, the story ended up having a great deal more of Glorfindel and Arandil, Erestor's father, than I had expected. It is fair to say that they rather hijacked the story, even though it is told entirely from Melpomaen's and Erestor's points of view. I hope that you don't mind, Holly! 
> 
> A/N: This story is set in the spring of Third Age (T.A.) 169, when Melpomaen is 48 years old. I am using late T.A. 120 as Melpomaen's birth year. Elladan and Elrohir (who were born in T.A. 129) are 40 years old. In elven years, that would make Melpomaen about 19 or 20 years old, and the twins about 16. So far as I've read, elves reach their majority when they are 50 years old, although they may not achieve their full growth until they are 100 years old. I see the twins as being slightly older than their age, due to their part-human heritage. In my AU storyline, Melpomaen was adopted the previous autumn by Erestor, after a series of remarkable events. Erestor's parents are Arandil, a diplomat, and his wife, Elain. 
> 
> The way that I write Melpomaen was definitely influenced and inspired by Holly's wonderful stories about him, and I am particularly grateful to her for corresponding with me about Melpomaen when I first started writing. I am also indebted to Kaylee, who came up with the idea of Erestor being Glorfindel's grandson for purposes of my AU, and who has been so generous with her time in helping me flesh out the relationship between these two characters in the AU. My thanks also to all of you who have let me know that you like Glorfindel and Arandil! 
> 
>  
> 
> Quote: 
> 
> “No love is greater than that of a father for [h]is son.” ― Dan Brown, Angels & Demons

Spring had come to Imladris, in all of her sweet flowered glory. Even such a dedicated scholar and administrator as Erestor Arandilion found it hard to concentrate for want of being outside in the sun and wind. 

"Ada?" Called a tentative, musical tenor from the door. 

"Melpomaen?" Erestor said, blushing a bit to be caught daydreaming, but nonetheless happy to see his adopted heir. "Do come in, son." 

The slender dark-haired elfling obeyed, with a weak smile for his new father. Erestor noted with some concern that Melpomaen seemed downcast, and wistful. Melpomaen was unlikely to complain. Melpomaen was not the type, for that, which was a good thing in some ways and worrying to Erestor in others. 

Melpomaen was a formal youth, often dressed in a fine robe over tunic and leggings. This afternoon he was dressed more casually, in black leggings and a chocolate-colored linen tunic, lightly embroidered around the laces with light blue thread. The outfit brought out the golden tones in the handsome almost-ellon's tawny brown eyes, but was still not too fine for an outside adventure. Erestor wondered what in the name of Eru Melpomaen was doing inside, on such a nice day. 

Melpomaen didn't seem to want to volunteer an explanation, so Erestor asked, "It is always a pleasure to see you, ion-nin, but I really must get through this bag of dispatches. Is there something that I can do for you?" 

"Do you have any work that I could help you with, Erestor?" Melpomaen asked, half-hopeful, half-despondent. 

Erestor eyed him closely. "No," He drawled after a moment, "You are forty-eight, and will not be of age for two years yet. And even then, I would not press you into labor on such a fine sixth day afternoon as this." 

Melpomaen sighed, clearly disappointed. Erestor was confused. He thought that Melpomaen had already learned this lesson. "Why don't you go and see what our young Lords are doing today?" Erestor suggested fondly, "If it is not something that will cause impermissible havoc and destruction, you should join them." 

Sighing again, Melpomaen explained, "They're riding out of the valley and up the Bruinen to the prism waterfall, with Lieutenant Caradhon, Duathben and Thenithol." 

Erestor hid a wince. Melpomaen was still restricted to the grounds of Imladris, a consequence of an unwise adventure the previous year. "Ah. I see." Said Erestor, sympathetic now, despite still feeling that he was justified in imposing this particular tariff. He didn't know how Elrond managed to handle the twins. Melpomaen's unhappiness had Erestor ready to end this particular punishment, and the fine weather had barely even started. 

"Is there nothing else you would like to do with your afternoon, pen-neth-muin-nin?" Asked Erestor gently. "It is a warm enough day for swimming on the grounds, and the library has a new shipment of books? Or you could go outside somewhere and sketch." 

"Cirdan's library had the same volumes." Melpomaen said sadly, "And I'm not much in the mood for swimming. May I keep you company whilst I draw?" 

"Always." 

Melpomaen settled into the window seat, sketching in the sunshine. 

Later that evening at dinner, Erestor's eyes again regarded Melpomaen with sympathy as the twins came in, boisterous and wind-blown from their excursion. A sympathy which increased as the twins successfully bargained with their parents and scheduled another trip for the following week, to go even further up the Bruinen and camp overnight by a hot spring, and watch the upcoming star shower from there. The evening was not enhanced by the twins glaring at Erestor, presumably after they'd tried and failed to get Melpomaen to ask Erestor for a reprieve from his grounding. 

That night, Erestor gave up trying to sleep and went to find Elrond, who was blessedly still awake. Perhaps sensing Erestor's disquiet, the Lord of Imladris had left his bed. He greeted Erestor in his office with a flask of wine, a loaf of bread, and a bowl of fruit. 

"Eat." Elrond urged, with an older brother's fond-but-scolding smile, "You were distracted at dinner." 

Erestor sat down heavily, running an agitated hand through his raven hair. "You were right, and I was wrong." 

Elrond laughed. "That's unusual. What is the occasion?" 

"I can't keep Melpomaen grounded to Imladris for a century." Erestor explained in a rush, "It has only been half a year, and already, I can't take it anymore. The sad looks, the wistful sighs, your sons glaring at me every time they invite Mel to go with them somewhere off the grounds..." 

Elrond shook his head fondly. "I did warn you, brother. But I do not blame you - you are new to parenting, and Melpomaen to being your son. When I reach this point with the twins on restriction, I usually wait for the next time that they plead politely for me to lift it, and agree to do so if they behave well for the next however long before we get to whatever it is they want to do, plus agree to do some additional chore or task I ask them to. Occasionally, if whatever they did to get grounded was bad enough, I'll give them the choice between the grounding continuing, or another spanking and chores, and they'll inevitably choose the second. It is a tactic that usually works well, for me." The Lord of Imladris concluded modestly. 

"Well, I could do that," Erestor said in exasperation, "but that my Mel NEVER asks for a reprieve from punishment." 

"I will tell my sons to ask him to ask you." Elrond offered immediately, "I, too, am tired of their annoyance with you."

"Thank you." Said Erestor thoughtfully, "And it may come to that, but I believe that I will try talking to Melpomaen first. I will take him riding with me at the end of this week, to see the star shower. I had planned to do so anyway." 

[Melpomaen POV] 

Melpomaen had gotten over feeling sorry for himself by the next morning. Yes, he would have rather gone riding with the twins up the course of the rushing Bruinen, but...spending an afternoon in Erestor's presence, drawing his beloved father at his desk, had been well enough, too. And it had involved much less in the way of concern that Elrohir might knock Melpomaen into the river, out of an overzealous desire to make sure that Melpomaen learned how to be indestructible. Melpomaen alternatively found that goal of Elrohir's to be sweet, infuriating, and insulting. He tended towards the last, in this instance, because, having grown up in Lindon and Mithlond, he was a better swimmer even than the twins! 

As for the trip to the hot springs to view the star shower at the end of the week, well, Melpomaen was sad not to have the choice to go. And he would miss spending time with his dear friends, yes. But he wasn't as upset as he was allowing it to be believed that he was. Melpomaen did not particularly like camping. There was too much dirt, and too many presumptuous bugs who did not understand that their place was outside the tent, and most certainly was not inside Melpomaen's blankets. The twins LOVED to camp, so Melpomaen put up with it, and the joy of their company was normally more than enough to outweigh the downsides. But, especially if Erestor was feeling guilty about Melpomaen not being allowed to go on the camping trip, he would likely make time to spend just with Melpomaen, and that would be very nice, too. It was not that Erestor didn't make time for his new son, but, well, he was a busy elf, and Melpomaen had his own duties as his young Lords' primary attendant. There was never really enough time. 

Not even on seventh days, although to be fair Melpomaen and the twins generally had liberty to do as they pleased on most of seventh day. But not in the mornings; those belonged to Lord Glorfindel and the practice of the arts of defense and attack. Melpomaen grimly applied himself to it, because being in the company of Lords Elrohir and Elladan, he'd already needed these skills desperately. And even once by himself, and that was part of why he was still grounded, almost a year later. The twins, Lord Elrond, and Lady Celebrian all assured him that Erestor wasn't serious about keeping Melpomaen close to him for a century, but neither did Melpomaen know when that restriction would be lifted. At first, it had been rather nice, and Melpomaen hadn't minded. But now....well, he minded a little. 

Not that he had time to think about it. Archery, swordplay, and wrestling did not come easily to Melpomaen, and Lord Glorfindel and his lieutenants were exacting teachers. If it hadn't been for Melpomaen's kind and patient armsmaster back in Lindon, the one who, when he had found out that Edrahil was hurting Melpomaen, had put an end to it, Melpomaen had no idea how he would make it through any of these practices. Melpomaen really missed Drystan, his armsmaster, and even more Drystan's wife Siana, who had been Melpomaen's parents' cook in Lindon, and a good friend of Melpomaen's mother Solora. 

Melpomaen's moment of inattention cost him his footing, as Elrohir dumped him again in the dust. 

"Stop daydreaming, gwador." Elrond's heir reproved.

Melpomaen grit his teeth. It got tiring, at times, to be reprimanded by a bossy elf who was almost a decade younger than himself, but he usually held his own well enough. And, this time, Elrohir was entirely correct. 

Elladan caught his twin's attention from across the practice courts, and nodded towards a small knot of Celebrian's ladies. Dressed in leggings and modest tunics with light armor, they had been gamely if a bit timidly following Lady Celebrian and Healer Raime in a half-speed bladed drill. Now Celebrian's attention had been distracted by the Castellan, and Healer Raime's by a trainee with a twisted ankle. 

Sensing an opportunity to make someone cry, the three young military trainees whom the twins had dubbed "the Three Numbskulls" surrounded Celebrian's ladies. Instead of encouraging the gentle ellith at their efforts, they teased them. Poor, shy Lady Bedhilien was almost in tears. 

"They need another lesson." Said Elrohir grimly. 

"No." Said Melpomaen firmly. Although it was true that weapons practices were less pleasant now that the Three Numbskulls had gotten over their withdrawn, biddable period following the truly memorable punishment which Lord Glorfindel had imposed upon them after the "Happy Ice Horse Incident," Melpomaen did not need the trouble of the twins teaching the Three Numbskulls another lesson. It was a miracle that Lord Glorfindel had believed the twins' frame-up job on the Three Numbskulls for the "Happy Ice Horse Incident." Well, a miracle and Lady Celebrian's intervention in the form of her continued silence, but she'd told the twins and Melpomaen that they would be on their own if there was a next time. And Melpomaen was honestly not happy that the twins had gotten the Three Numbskulls drunk enough that even they couldn't say for sure that they hadn't been responsible for the Happy Ice Horse Incident. The Numbskulls didn't even suspect the twins of masterminding the whole thing, and had been on better terms with the twins for providing them free wine, at least until they started insulting Melpomaen again. The twins never took that well.

"I've got some ideas...." Offered Elladan, who had finished his bout with Thenithol and come over to join them. 

"No." Said Melpomaen again, but more calmly, knowing by Elladan's body language and tone of voice that the younger twin was only teasing and had tacitly agreed to abide by Melpomaen's decision. They did that, sometimes, if he felt more strongly about something than they did. That was not to say that they wouldn't come up with another idea, later, and fail to ask Melpomaen about it, but for now they let Melpomaen go over to Lady Celebrian and quietly call the problem of the Three Numbskulls to her attention. 

Celebrian handled the matter with style and flair, embarrassing the three Numbskulls by handling two of them at a time while gentle Healer Raime disarmed the third. Licking their wounds from that assault on their pride, the Three Numbskulls were entirely unprepared when the wrath of Lord Glorfindel fell upon them again. 

By the time Glorfindel's attention had moved to gently encouraging Lady Bedhilien to aim her arrows properly whilst Lady Celebrian glared at Glorfindel for not having dealt with the problem of the Three Numbskulls more thoroughly earlier, the Three Numbskulls, also known as Trainees Belegarth, Haldanar, and Saelorn, were looking for a new target. 

Melpomaen doing a little better at his sword drills was apparently excuse enough for them to choose him. Melpomaen ended up paired with Saelorn, the most acid-tongued of the three. The bout ended in a draw, which was the best Melpomaen had ever done. He was quite pleased with himself, even when the tall Haldanar and the taller Belegarth came to stand beside Saelorn, all three of them looming over Melpomaen. He was faintly aware of the twins coming towards him, and the surrounding matches continuing. 

"You may have improved, Erestorion," Saelorn sneered, "But you are still so putrid a soldier that you would be better off hiding behind the skirts of Lady Celebrian or her handmaids if orcs ever do come to Imladris." 

Melpomaen, feeling odd, answered, "And the three of you as well, for our Lady is a much better swordswoman than any of you. And if you are afraid of her, why wouldn't an orc be?" 

"Good on you, Mel." Exulted Elrohir quietly, from Melpomaen's left. 

The Three Numbskulls, shocked and insulted that their favorite verbal punching bag had insulted them back, begin to approach Melpomaen menacingly. 

To his own surprise, instead of backing down and defusing the situation, Melpomaen stood his ground. "I don't want to fight you," He said quietly to Belegarth, Haldanar, and Saelorn, "But I'm not going to let you push me around anymore, either." 

To his left and right sides, Melpomaen heard the "shick" sound of the twins sheathing their swords, and was glad that whatever confrontation came, it would at least be without bladed weapons. Then Melpoamen felt rather than saw the twins drop into a fighting stance beside him. 

"Now, wait a minute, here," Said Thenithol, trying to defuse the situation. 

"We'll walk away, if the weakling apologizes for such an insult to his betters." Said Belegarth, taking a step closer to Melpoamen, and leading with his shoulder. 

For some reason, that was it, a breaking point of sorts, for Melpomaen. Maybe because "weakling" had been one of Edrahil's favorite insults for his son; perhaps because elves of the same attitude of as Belegarth - that Melpomaen, an upstart shipwright's elfling, did not have the status or breeding to be the companion of the young Lords of Imladris and the adopted son of the great Lord Elrond's wise Chief Advisor - had caused Melpomaen no end of trouble in the past. But, for whatever reason, they didn't have the chance to find out whether Belegarth was really going to knock Melpomaen down if Melpomaen didn't apologize, or whether Thenithol could teach the Three Numbskulls a lesson himself, or get Lord Glorfindel to do so again. No, instead Melpomaen punched Belegarth, hard, on the shoulder, then followed that up immediately with a knee to his gut. No blows that would cause a serious injury, but effective enough to immediately knock Belegarth down. 

A brawl then ensued between Melpomaen and the twins on the one side, and the Three Numbskulls on the other, with the twins' friends amongst the guard split between getting involved on the twins' behalf and doing their best to break up the fight. Unfortunately, one of the other trainee's was Belegarth's brother, and another Saelorn's cousin, and they joined in on the Numbskulls' side. Thenithol and Eglandor stopped trying to break up the fight and started just helping the twins and Melpomaen. 

Lord Glorfindel must have finally realized that something was going on, because the next thing Melpomaen knew, the Balrog Slayer and his lieutenants and older trainees and soldiers were wading into the fray and pulling the younger elves out of it. Melpomaen stopped fighting immediately, but still got a hard swat to the seat of his leggings from Lord Glorfindel as the great blond warrior pulled him out of the fight. The twins, especially Elrohir, were more reluctant, and got handled a bit more roughly. Finally, everyone was standing at attention in front of the great golden Captain of Imladris' guard, getting a lecture that Melpomaen, for one, was sure that he would never forget. 

Sooner than he would have liked, Melpomaen found himself in a small room in the Hall of Healing, with Elrond looking over both him and the twins, and determining that they had no more than bumps and bruises whilst Belegarth, Haldanar, and especially Saelorn would be sore for several days. Lord Elrond bore his reluctant sons away, warning Melpomaen that, although he was free to go when Erestor arrived to collect him, he'd best not try to leave before. 

Which brought a whole new host of worries and fears to the front of Melpomaen's mind and heart. Erestor loved him, yes, but he'd always known Melpomaen as a good elfling. Good elflings didn't start fights; would Erestor still love him, still want him? Melpomaen felt irrationally angry with the Three Numbskulls for potentially ruining the nice one-on-one time he'd been looking forward do with his Ada while the twins were on their trip, because surely Erestor wouldn't want to be around Melpomaen now. The more Melpomaen thought about it, the more upset and worried he felt. 

His guilt-ridden, dolorous thoughts were interrupted by Erestor's arrival. Sweeping open the door to the healing room, Erestor seemed fierce in his fine robes and drawn face. His eyes seemed red, and his expression...hurt, disbelieving. Almost as if it had been Erestor whom Melpomaen punched in the stomach, with the proof of what an unworthy child he was. Glorfindel followed Erestor, perhaps to further lambaste Melpomaen for starting fights. Or perhaps because Erestor was washing his hands of Melpomaen? 

Melpomaen looked up from the chair in the infirmary. "Erestor...," he gulped, frightened to see his beloved adoptive father so upset, "Lord Elrond told me I could leave, as soon as you, uh, came to get me. I am very, very sorry to have interrupted your work." Melpomaen said sincerely. Apologetically and sincerely, and a little unsure besides.

Erestor closed the door. "We will leave soon, Melpomaen, but not before I hear from your lips what happened on the practice field today." 

Glorfindel leaned menacingly against the door of the small examining room. Melpomaen winced, and looked down at his feet. He felt disgusting, still covered in dirt and sweat and blood. He didn't understand why everyone told him to stand up for himself, and then got mad at him for doing so. "The Three Numbskulls," he used the twins' term for the three bullies, "were their normal selves, and I hit one of them. And then we, um, fought." 

Having given his explanation, Melpomaen got up to leave. He'd told Erestor what had happened here; he was going to bathe. A part of Melpomaen realized that he was testing his adoptive father like that stupid book of Elladan's on adopted and abandoned elflings talked about. But Melpomaen was tired, sore, and upset.

"Sit down, Melpomaen Erestorion." Erestor reproached, quickly and firmly, albeit with some surprise that Melpoamen would be so disrespectful as to try to just walk out of the room. 

Melpomaen felt an anger and upset he didn't understand bubbling up inside him. He wasn't going to outright disobey Erestor; he couldn't show that much disrespect. So he did something that Erestor might think of as even worse, but which was technically not defiance. 

"Yes, Lord Erestor." Mel said angrily, and took a seat again, looking at the wall where Glorfindel was not, and refusing to meet his beloved adopted father's eyes. Erestor had come to love with a good, obedient elfling...and Melpomaen didn't feel at all good right now. He'd been in a FIGHT, surely Erestor would want to give him back...he had no idea to whom. 

Erestor's eyebrows rose at this. "What on Arda has gotten into you, my elfling?" 

Mel took a deep breath. "I...I got into a fight. I've never been in a, a, fight before. Umm, I fought people, at Bree, and um, but I, this was, my fault." Mel looked down at his feet. "The TWINS didn't start this. I did. It was my fault. I'm sorry, my Lord."

"Melpomaen." Glorfindel said softly dangerous, "If you call Erestor by a title you know that he dislikes hearing from you again, I'll deal with you myself before you leave this room."

Melpomaen, frustrated beyond sense, glared at Glorfindel. What business was this of the balrog- slayers, anyway? "Yes, Captain the Lord Glorfindel." Mel managed, his voice just barely polite, and his head now itching, as if his mind was a book and a mighty, cold wind was ruffling the pages. 

Glorfindel turned back towards Erestor. The two seemed to communicate silently for a few moments, and then Erestor turned back to Melpoamen, fixing him with a dark-eyed gaze. 

"Melpomaen, my son," Said Erestor, looking even more as if someone had just punched him, but at least, Melpomaen reflected, he was still calling Melpomaen his son. "Come, we need to get you cleaned up, and finish our discussion privately, the three of us. 

"But Erestor," Mel objected, horrified, "I...not Lord Glorifindel, please. I promise I won't call you Lord anymore, I promise."

Glorfindel raised a questioning eyebrow at Erestor, as if willing to follow Erestor's lead.

"I did not say that Lord Glorfindel is going to impose consequences upon you for this unacceptable behavior outside of those he chooses to order as your training officer," Said Erestor quietly, "but you owe him an apology for your behavior, ion-nin." 

"I'm...very sorry, Lord Glorfindel." The apology was as sincere as Melpomaen could manage. He sincerely did not want Glorfindel around to witness any more of the lecture he was sure he was going to receive from his adoptive father. But Melpomaen had relaxed a little at Erestor's term of endearment. If Erestor was still claiming him as son, even with Melpomaen acting so poorly, then perhaps Erestor did not want to get rid of Melpomaen, just because Melpomaen had proved himself a troublemaker.

"Do as your Adar says, elfling." Glorfindel instructed Melpomaen, before turning on his heel to leave the room. 

Erestor guided Melpomaen to his rooms, in the same wing as Erestor's and Elrond's and his family's. 

"I...." Melpomaen started, his very skin itching with the dirt and sweat and trauma of the confrontation. 

"Go bathe, son." Erestor instructed, a slight, fond smile curving his lips. "The matter will wait - I will wait - until you are clean again." 

"Thank you." Said Melpomaen fervently. Erestor turned Melpomaen gently in the direction of his bathing chamber, and gave him a light swat to get him going. 

Melpomaen ran his bath and then sighed in relief as he slipped into the hot, scented water. In his outer chamber he heard the sound of his clothes press opening and closing, and wondered if Erestor was picking out clothes for him. It wasn't the type of thing that Erestor would do if he wanted to get rid of Melpomaen, was it? 

As he rinsed the soap from his hair, Melpomaen heard the sound of the outer door opening. He heard Erestor exclaim in surprise, and then quieter voices, one Erestor's, and others he couldn't recognize. Then the door closed again. 

Melpomaen listened from the rapidly cooling water, feeling left out of whatever was going on. There was still a sick weight in the middle of his stomach, because he was still afraid that all would not be normal again, even after Erestor did...whatever he was planning to do. If, of course, Erestor hadn't just left when the door closed. Tears came to Melpomaen's eyes at the thought. 

Erestor must have stayed, for just as Melpomaen realized that he didn't have a towel, Erestor came into the bathing chamber carrying several. The expression on Erestor's face was so...strange, that Melpomaen felt even worse. To his shame, tears began to spill from his eyes. 

Melpomaen stiffened as Erestor's gentle hands steadied him as he slipped on the way out of the tub and then started crying in earnest. "You can't want me anymore, Erestor." He said in between light sobs, "I...I started a fight! Even the TWINS aren't that bad! You should," Melpomaen straightened and met Erestor's eyes, "You should just send me away."

Erestor pulled Melpomaen, wet and unclothed as he was, into a fierce embrace, then pulled Melpomaen just far enough away to meet Erestor's eyes as the Chief Advisor said fiercely, "No, pen-neth-muin-nin. I adopted you, and that means that we are family, for always." 

Melpomaen shook his head, "You adopted me, but I hadn't misbehaved so, then." He said sadly. "I'm not your blood, you shouldn't have to put up with me. I should just leave." Melpomaen said sadly, wrapping a towel around his narrow waist. "Perhaps Cirdan would give me my old job as an archivist back." Part of Melpomaen knew that he was being foolish; Cirdan would no more employ an elfling without that elfling's parent's permission than he would employ...a., a, warg. But Melpomaen knew he had to offer Erestor a real option. Melpomaen didn't understand, today, why Erestor still wanted him.

Erestor sighed, then said forcefully, "My son, my heart, you are missing the whole point. It matters not whether you behave or misbehave, or how much you misbehave, I still love you even so. Not your behavior, not anything, could condition or temper that love." Erestor took another soft towel, and wrapped it around Melpomaen's slender shoulders as he continued lecturing, "You are NOT going to leave. You will stay right here with me, ion-nin. It matters not whether you are my blood or no. You are my elfling, and I am your Adar now, and that is the end of it. Yes, I will spank you for your misbehavior when I must, and I must, today, for your having started a fight in the presence of a dozen adults whom you could have asked for aid instead of striking out. But I will correct you when I must because I love you, not in spite of it." 

Erestor crossed his arms, and raised one elegant dark brow at Melpomaen. "And besides, you cannot leave Imladris in any case, ion-nin. You are grounded, for now and the foreseeable future, as a consequence of your last journey. Do you not recall? 

"Oh, Erestor." Mel threw himself into his beloved adoptive father's arms, "I'm sorry, so so sorry. Sorry that I was rude, and sorry I started a fight, and sorry I called you my Lord, and was rude to Lord Glorfindel, and forgot I was grounded." 

"I know you are, Mel-nin." Erestor soothed, his arms tight around his son again. "You're a good elf, and you try to do the right things, even under the worst circumstances. Everyone has an off day, everyone makes mistakes." 

Relieved to find such comfort and reassurance from his nearly perfect father, and still feeling unworthy of it, Melpomaen confessed with a sniffle, "I'm not sorry I punched that numbskull Belegarth." Melpomaen wasn't really feeling defiant anymore, just determined to be honest. "He said that I hide behind Lady Celebrian's skirts, and I most certainly do not."

Erestor blinked. "Well, that was most unkind of him, and he was very clearly wrong. I know -now- that he, Saelorn, and Haldanar have continued to behave in an unchivalrous fashion. Trust me, I will have words with their parents, about that. But it was my problem, or Captain Glorfindel's, to deal with, and not yours. Nor is it ever acceptable to assault someone merely for insulting you." 

Straightening his shoulders, and pulling his towel more tightly around himself, Mel asked. "Ah, Erestor, you're going to spank me, are you not?" The "s" word was always hard to say, in Melpomaen's opinion, particularly when he was more than old enough to know better than to get into fights. 

"I am, yes, son." Erestor confirmed, his hand coming to rest reassuringly on Melpomaen's shoulder. "For fighting when it could easily have been avoided." 

Melpomaen felt his stomach drop. He made no protest as Erestor put a hand between his shoulder blades and gently guided him into his bedchamber. Nor did he protest putting on just the sleeping tunic laid out on the bed. Even though Melpomaen hated the idea of a spanking, he could understand, from a practical point of view, that it would be easier not to have to remove leggings and small clothes, especially when the spanking was imminent. And he'd definitely earned it! Fighting, brawling like a common ruffian in the courtyard, and drawing his Lord's sons into the mix! And then how rude he'd been, both to his dear and esteemed Erestor and to the intimidating Balrog-slayer, of all the elves in Arda! That made another unpleasant thought occur to Melpomaen. 

"Ada?" 

"Hmmm?" 

Melpomaen suppressed a rather purposeless, "Could you please NOT spank me," instead asking "Am I...am I in trouble for just for fighting, or also for rudeness? "

"Hmm." Ersestor looked at him, dark eyes kind and patient. "Tell me why you were rude, my son." 

"I'm not sure." Melpomaen said softly, meeting his adoptive father's eyes and honestly miserable. "I became so ...angry, earlier today. I don't know why, I just got tired of being pushed around, and then I hit him first - I mean, based on past precedent, they were probably PLANNING to hit us, so Elrohir said later that it was a sound tactical strategy to hit him first, when he was just looming. But I thought that you ... that you wouldn't want me anymore. Because I hit him, and I," Melpomaen looked down, "I couldn't bear that, so I was worried, and that made me more angry. And then I was rude. I'm so sorry, Erestor." Melpomaen felt like he might cry again, but he was a nearly grown ellon of 48, not a baby elfling. He wasn't going to cry again.

"Shhhh...there, now, Mel-nin." Erestor soothed, pulling Melpomaen into another embrace, "All is well, between us. I understand your upset, and your anger, and while I am going to spank you for fighting, I am not going to do so for your rudeness. You were upset, and scared, and I understand." Looking Melpomaen in the eyes again, Erestor said firmly, "I will always want you with me, ion-nin, and I will never give up on you, no matter what. I swear it." 

Melpomaen curled closer to Erestor, silent tears leaking out of his eyes, as he nodded, and then shook his head. "I didn't think I was this...'insecure,'" Mel said in distaste, using one of the words from Elladan's book on abandoned and adopted elflings. "I mean, I know that I love you, and I know that you love me, but I still worry, sometimes. I'm sorry, Erestor. You've never given me any reason to doubt you, and I don't, really, but sometimes I still worry. I know it’s foolish, and I'm sorry."

"Then I will simply continue to assure that you do not need to worry." Erestor said, stroking a calming hand over Melpomaen's hair as they sat together on the edge of Melpomaen's bed. Melpomaen's eyes flew to the small leather-bound book by his bedside, the one that Lord Elrond, acting as Melpomaen's mind-healer, had instructed him to write in once a day. Melpomaen didn't have to show what he wrote to anyone, but he had to write something. 

Held safe in Erestor's arms, Melpomaen made a decision. "Umm, Erestor? There's this book....it belongs to Elladan. Well, it probably doesn't, but it's in his possession."

"Oh? And what book is that, ion-nin?" Erestor asked, arms still holding Melpomaen. 

"It's, well, you know how Elladan is. A bit of know- it- all when it comes to healing stuff. It’s about, um, adopted elflings, and um, things that they do, and I thought it was all nonsense, that I'd never behave like that kind of idiot with you. But I was definitely trying to push you away today, and that was in the book, and maybe I should ask Elladan if, um, we can read it. Although I hate the idea of telling Elladan he was right about this." Mel explained, relaxing a little more into Erestor's arms.

"Having been his tutor for the last five years, I can understand that entirely. Elladan can be very annoying when he is proved right." Said Erestor with his gentle, dry wit, "Although, in Elladan’s defense, he does come by that honestly." 

"He's younger than me, and he shouldn't know me better than me." Melpomaen complained unhappily. "But I don't mean that in a bad way - there are a lot of things he's not good at or has to work hard at, like, umm, languages, and um, following rules." Mel sniffled a bit. "I got the twins into trouble today. I threw the first punch - I mean, we all thought they were GOING to hit us. But the twins just got ready - I hit."

"They told you to throw the first punch, is that right?" Erestor questioned. 

"They? Oh, the twins? No. Actually," Melpomaen thought it through, "probably yes. But I just," he shook his head, "I lost my temper, and I thought he was likely going to hit me, he just hadn't yet, and I hit him." Melpomaen felt sick. "I don't want to be the kind of elf who...who...hits people, Erestor."

Erestor's arms tightened around him again. "It was one mistake, ion-nin." Erestor whispered into his ear, "Just one, not the end of the world. You will be well, and I am here to care for you no matter what." Rubbing Melpomaen's back, ERestor murmured, "Shall we have this over with, then, son?" 

Melpomaen nodded, then said, "Yes, Erestor." Melpomaen felt very nervous, even though he'd been in similar situations with Erestor before now, and the Chief Advisor, his new adopted father, had always been firm, but never cruel.

Erestor patted Melpomaen on the back again, and then looked around the room. His eyes came to rest on Melpomaen's desk. Melpomaen winced as he saw his ruler out, scattered amongst a book and dry quills. Melpomaen used the ruler for drawing straight edges. He was afraid that Erestor planned to use it for smacking his rear. 

Surely enough, the next words out of Erestor's mouth were, "Bring me that ruler, if you please, my son."

Melpomaen did NOT please, but he obeyed anyway. In fact, he was a small amount relieved that it was "just" the ruler. Although he was sure he'd change his mind swiftly. Or rather the ruler landing on his backside would change his mind for him. 

Still, Melpomaen felt honor-bound to point out, as he reluctantly handed Erestor the ruler, "Elladan and Elrohir said that they thought their father was going to paddle them, for this." He didn't want Erestor to think that he had to go easy on Melpomaen. 

"Is that so?" Asked Erestor, clearly fighting irritation. He put the ruler to the side and waved for Melpomaen to get over his lap, saying as he did so, "Well, it is the sixth time this year they've gotten in to trouble for fighting." 

It was actually the seventh, but Melpomaen wasn't going to mention it. 

"And," Erestor continued, pausing to stroke Melpomaen's back reassuringly as the teenaged elfling laid himself over Erestor's knees, "The twins are Elrond's sons, and you are mine. The decision of how to deal with them is his, and the decision of how to deal with you is mine." 

"Yes, Adar." Melpomaen agreed, glad to be able to call Erestor by that term of endearment, even in this difficult and humiliating moment. 

Since Melpomaen was wearing neither leggings nor small clothes, it took only the work of a moment for Erestor to lift up the back of Melpomaen's tunic, baring his bottom to the cool air. 

Melpomaen shivered, ruefully certain that his complaint would soon be that that specific area of his anatomy was entirely too warm! 

Erestor patted him gently on the back, then Melpomaen felt the breeze of Erestor's hand pulling back, followed mere seconds later by the stinging clap of his palm landing smartly on Melpomaen's left bottom cheek. A smart slap to his right cheek followed, with Erestor settling into a steady rhythm, firmly addressing every inch of Melpomaen's bottom in a circuit of six repeating swats. 

"Smack....smack.... smack....landed Erestor's hand, again and again. Melpomaen was soon gasping and curling his hands around his blankets. To his dismay, the spanking continued, with Erestor merely tightening a comforting arm around Melpomaen's waist to keep him in place as his adoptive son started kicking and yelping. Squirming soon followed, with Erestor just taking it as an opportunity to pull Melpomaen a little further over his lap. Grateful that his burning, stinging rear cheeks were at last out of harm's way, Melpomaen didn't realize until a sharp swat landed on the sensitive undercurve of his bottom that he'd just been better presented for his sit spots to be thoroughly roasted. 

And Erestor seemed dedicated to the task! Quick, firm smacks landed on the underside of each bottom cheek, again and again in turn, until Melpomaen was again yelping and kicking. To his shame, Erestor felt the need to shift Melpomaen enough to pin Melpomaen's legs down with his left leg. 

"S....sorry!" Gasped Melpomaen, between tears. 

"Don't apologize, ion-nin." Said Erestor gently, pausing with his spanking hand resting gently on Melpomaen's lower back. "You are doing well, and you are a very good elfling, I am very proud of you. I am disappointed that you let your temper get the better of you and hit Belegarth today, even though I know that he and his friends were being cruel to you. If you had actually felt that you were unsafe, then you would not be getting a spanking. Do you understand?" 

"Y...yes, Sir." 

"But you could have walked away, or gone to get Anatar....Glorfindel." 

"Ye...yes, Sir." For once, Melpomaen was too distracted to even think it was brave of Erestor to tease Glorfindel by calling him "Anatar," the Quenya formal term for "Grandfather." The twins had explained that the common belief was that it was a play on Glorfindel's great age, although the fact that it was Erestor meant that it might just be a term of respect, for Erestor was not one to tease an elf over his age. For whatever reason, it did not seem to bother the Balrog-slayer, who even sometimes returned the insult- or respect, whichever it was - by calling Erestor "inyo," or grandson. 

Erestor sighed, and patted Melpomaen's back again. "Next time, please think of that, ion-muin-nin." He asked, before his hand came down in six light, stinging swats, evenly distributed over Melpoamen's upper thighs. Even such relatively mild smacks to such a sensitive area had Melpomaen yelping and kicking again, now grateful for being held in place. 

The next thing Melpomaen felt was the cool of the wooden ruler resting against his overheated bottom. 

"Six to seal the lesson, Melpomaen-muin-nin. Then we will be done." Erestor promised kindly. 

Melpomaen nodded gratefully, doing his best to brace himself without tensing his burning backside. The first smarting smack of the ruler landed on the top of his bottom, with the second and third landing directly below. The final three were firmer, and all applied with a will to the undercurves of Melpomaen's bottom. 

"I'm....s....s....sorrry!" He howled, as the ruler smacked home the fifth and the final times. 

"Shhh, ion-nin, I know." Erestor soothed, releasing Melpomaen's legs and rubbing his back to offer comfort. Melpomaen just laid there for a moment, his bottom throbbing but his heart much lighter. He hadn't WANTED the spanking, had dreaded it, in fact, but he could not doubt his father's unshaken affection and esteem. He even felt a bit better, calmer, about, well, everything, now that he knew he could make a mistake of this proportion, and not lose everything for it. 

Even as he thought so, Erestor's hands moved to lift Melpomaen up, moving him to sit upright on Erestor's lap, Melpomaen's well-spanked bottom carefully not in contact with anything that might irritate it. Erestor pulled Melpomaen tightly against him, applying a fierce, paternal kiss to the top of Melpomaen's head. 

"I really am sorry." Melpomaen said, his voice still teary. 

"I know that you are, and I forgive you completely." Said Erestor, seeming content to just sit there, holding Melpomaen. 

"You...you really aren't angry with me?" 

Erestor sighed incredulously and then tugged on a lock of Melpomaen's hair in silent reprimand. 

"I suppose it was a silly question." Melpomaen apologized, with a sigh of contentment. He looked up at Erestor and offered him a small smile. 

"Yes, it was." Erestor agreed fondly, "But I would rather you ask than worry. And you need not fear that I will grow tired of you asking - or rather, that I will ever grow tired of you. Being your father is a privilege and an honor, Melpomaen Erestorion, and that will never change.” 

"Yes, Sir....Erestor....Adar." Melpomaen corrected himself, earning another gentle smile from his father. 

Melpomaen sighed, much more relaxed, but still despondent about one thing. "If I were your son by blood, you probably wouldn't have had to leave your work today to come and collect me for brawling like a fish monger." 

Erestor stared at him for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words. Then he shook Melpomaen gently. "Never consider yourself less dear to me because you are the son of my heart and not of my body, Melpomaen. And...." Here Erestor seemed almost to be hiding a smile, "The son of my body, your brother when he is reborn in the West, he may be quite a handful. My wife was, and so was....were....other members of my family. Including myself, from time to time." 

Melpomaen tilted his chin as he considered that. "Not you, Adar." He said after a few moments thought. He just couldn't see Erestor getting into fights, although from how capable his father was on the practice field, Erestor would probably have won them. Unless he was fighting with Glorfindel or one of his senior lieutenants, or with Lord Elrond. 

Erestor flat-out chuckled. "Well, then I suppose it is a good thing that your grandparents will be coming to dinner tonight. My father and his large and cacophonous retinue somehow managed to surprise all of Captain Glorfindel's furthest out scouts by appearing in the mountain pass today. My mother will fuss over you, and my father, in a familiar audience, will be only too happy to regale you - and likely your co-conspirators - with tales of the many and varied times I ended up over his knee. Although, to be fair, he always made sure that I knew he still thought me a good child, and later a fine ellon, despite whatever I'd done to earn my unhappy state. 

Melpoamen shook his head, confused, and then closed his eyes in mortification. "MY grandparents? " He gasped, "You mean YOUR parents? TONIGHT? Oh, Erestor, what will they think of me?," He managed. 

"They will think that you are a wonderful elfling, my wonderful elfling, and they have already congratulated me on my good fortune in having adopted you." Said Erestor firmly. And that was all that he would say on the subject, before he bullied Melpomaen into taking a nap. Despite assuredly having a thousand other things to do - including host HIS PARENTS - Erestor stayed beside Melpomaen until Melpomaen fell truly asleep.


	30. Consequences Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: 
> 
> "Don't hold your parents up to contempt. After all, you are their son, and it is just possible that you may take after them." - Evelyn Waugh

Erestor was gone before Melpomaen awoke, but Melpomaen still was not alone. 

In fact, not having room to turn over fully had been what woke him up. Or it might have been Elrohir's stocking-clad feet in his face, or the scratch of Elladan's pen beside his right ear. 

"Ugh." Groaned Melpomaen. 

"Oh, good, you're awake!" Chirped Elladan excitedly, "Now we can go back to the oliphaunts!" 

And there were, indeed, oliphaunts. Pygmy oliphaunts, with soft fuzzy hair all over their bodies. Even after the day he'd had, and dreading what he felt was the near inevitable disappointment Erestor's parents would find him to be, Melpomaen had to smile with true wonder and joy as the smallest of the oliphaunts wrapped its soft, leathery trunk around his arm, huffing just enough air to make his newly re-braided hair fly back from his face. 

"He likes you, that's a good thing, you're the first one he's taken to." Remarked a bright, feminine voice. 

Melpomaen turned, blushing, just in time to be introduced to the Princess Gilmith of Dol Amroth, the half-elven daughter of Mithrellas of Lorien and the late Prince Imrazor. Princess Gilmith, and Celebrian's brothers-by-adoption Lords Haldir and Rumil, as well as an ill-tempered jaguar, a host of birds, and a herd of foreign horses, had all come back from the far south with Erestor's father Arandil and his wife Elain. Melpomaen honestly had no idea how Lord Arandil and his colorful company had managed to make their way to the inner perimeter of Imladris without alerting a single scout. He would have to add "wizard" to Lord Arandill's already gilded reputation, Melpomaen thought. 

Many didn't realize it, because he'd kept a low profile since the start of the Third Age, but Lord Arandil was just as famous as his son, if not more so. He'd been Aran Ereinion Gil-galad's ambassador to Eregion, stirring the opposition to Lord Annatar, who had been Sauron in disguise, and helping the elves of Eregion to establish escape routes. Arandil's maps had led Lord Elrond, Captain Glorfindel, and Erestor to the survivors of Eregion, with whom they'd made their stand in Imladris, all those centuries ago. Arandil had also fought in the War of Wrath with Lord Elrond and Aran Gil-galad, and now he served as Elrond's voice, eyes, and ears, in Gondor and the far north and south and wherever else Elrond chose to send him. 

"You don't need to worry so, you know." Elladan assured Melpoamen, as he and the twins quickly scrubbed off the smell of oliphaunts and jaguar and beautiful horses. 

"Elladan's right, Mel." Agreed Elrohir, completely unselfconscious of his still pink bottom as he sluiced water over his hair. "Uncle Arandil is the kindest, funniest ellon alive. And Aunt Elain is sweet, unless you're her patient and you don't listen to her, in which case she has a typical healer's bossiness." 

"They've never met me before and we were part of a brawl and...." Melpomaen babbled. 

Elladan laughed. "Uncle Arandil thought it was funny, that Glorfindel's classroom control was that poor. Or, at least, that's what he said. That an armsmaster who lets his students strut around and intimidate other students only gets what is coming to him when there's a dust up." 

"Uncle Arandil does not approve of bullies." Elrohir agreed. "Had you been the one teasing poor Lady Bedhilien into tears, he might be disappointed in you. Just punching Belegarth wouldn't be enough to upset him. He's been knifed in the gut and kept on smiling." Elrohir seemed approving of such toughness, even in a diplomat. Elrond's eldest son lacked patience with most methods of negotiation which did not involve a sword. 

The twins were reassuring, in their own tumultuous way, but Melpomaen was still uneasy to the point of frantic. He stopped into the main library on his way to the private dinner in Lord Elrond's dining chamber. He was running a bit early, due mostly to nerves, and the library always calmed him. 

Just the smell of books and the quiet but cheerful greeting from the archivist at the entry desk made his shoulders relax. Melpomaen was always a welcome visitor to the archives. There were always volumes to be re-shelved and delicate scrolls to be placed back into the correct scroll case. Most of the archivists were grateful to have someone who loved lore and revered books as much as Melpomaen to help them with their duties. Melpomaen carefully took a pile of books on the creation of gardens and growth of forests back towards the proper section of the library, an area which he rarely if ever saw because the twins had little interest in such pursuits. 

The familiar actions and the presence of thousands upon thousands of books and scrolls eased his anxiety and even brought a smile to Melpomaen's face. He was relaxed enough to engage in his normal habit of opening the last volume and perusing it before he put it away. It was a good way of learning something new, and often led to an hour - or many hours- of delightful diversion. Sometimes he even lost track of time and missed dinner entirely, a habit which Erestor was generally very lenient about. Sometimes Erestor did the same thing, in fact, although as Elrond's Chief Advisor he was more likely to be missed, and more conscientious about meal times. Erestor usually just sent a twin or a member of his staff to the library to find Melpomaen if Melpomaen was running late, and accepted Melpomaen's sincere but expected excuses with a patient, "Please pay better attention to the hour next time." 

Determined not to be late tonight, Melpomaen closed the volume about changing the temperature inside a glass house to grow out-of-season fruits, and reached up to return it to its proper home. 

"May I have that one, young elf?" Asked a rich, amused baritone. 

Melpomaen gasped in surprise, and would have dropped the book, except that he never dropped books. 

Gentle, strong hands took the beautifully illustrated, leather bound tome from his hands. The hands looked like Erestor's; long and elegant. Melpomaen couldn’t help staring, for this must be Erestor’s father.

He was uncommon fair, even for an elf, but slightly taller and stronger-featured than Melpomaen’s beloved Chief Advisor. Arandil, like Erestor, was still svelte and graceful rather than imposing, but his smile….

Well, even Melpomaen had to forget his fear and nervousness and smile back.

“Well-met, grandson.” Said the great Lord Arandil, still smiling. “It gives my heart joy to know that we already share some of the same interests.”

Near overwhelmed with joy, Melpomaen artlessly answered, “Oh, yes, how gardeners and engineers get a glass house to just the right temperature to grow fruit out of season, or flowers and trees that come from far-off places….”

Arandil, looking proud as well as pleased, merely nodded for Melpomaen to continue, instead of looking like he’d rather not listen to a talk about plants, which was how Elladan usually reacted to Melpomaen’s being enthusiastic about something on this subject.

“And….and I think that these plans, and the greenhouses by the smaller waterfalls, could be used as a home for the pygmy oliphaunts!” Melpomaen continued excitedly, having just thought of that.

Arandil grinned. It wasn’t even a smile, it was a cat that ate the canary grin. “Oh, you and I are going to be friends, as well as Anatar and inyo, that I can tell already, heart of my heart.”

“I…I hope so, Sir.” Said Melpomaen, desperately hoping so.

“I am sure. You will come to be so, in time. I will have patience with you, for your three times great-grandfather Laurehandon was always patient with me.”

Melpomaen, near overwhelmed with emotion, still wanted to do more about his many times great-grandfather who had been Erestor’s, and Erestor’s father’s, cousin.

“Laurehandon was an artist.” Arandil said quietly, “You favor him very much, elfling-mine. His kindness, and his bravery, and his determination never to let the strong pick upon the weak.”

With that confirmation that Arandil must have known what happened today, Melpomaen lost his composure. “I….I didn’t mean to hit him. I don’t….I don’t usually get into trouble, or fight.”

“That I will believe, otherwise you would be cheerfully regaling me with the tale of your unfair punishment, as were your young Lords.” Arandil reported with a wry, tolerant smile. Considering Melpomaen more seriously, he asked, “You did fight at Bree, though, did you not?”

“I…yes, but there wasn’t much choice, it was….”

“Yes, I heard.” Said Arandil quietly. “Well, you were very brave, and so were Elladan and Elrohir, and even your foolish Captain, Valar look out for him.” He paused, and looked at Melpomaen, “We will sit down at some point during this visit, and go over with you and Elladan and Elrohir what you might have done differently.”

“I, of course, Sir….”

Arandil winced at the “Sir,” then reached out to put a gentle hand on Melpomaen’s shoulder. “Peace, inyonya, I am not wroth with you, just bereft at the thought that I might have lost you before I ever met you.”

At that, Arandil's hazel eyes, so unlike Erestor's in color and shape but still somehow familiar, met Melpomaen's and held his gaze. Both chastened and heartened, Melpomaen promised, "I will try to be more careful, Sir....Lord Arandil." 

"Thank you, hinya," Said Arandil in his mellow, rich voice, "I will hold you to that." 

"Arandil meldonya," interrupted a beautiful soprano, "if you make us late to dinner for getting lost in Elrond's library, our beloved son will never let you forget it. Come, leave this poor young librarian in peace...." 

The lady's voice trailed off as she got a good look at Melpomaen. Erestor's mother was blond and tiny; one of the shortest and daintiest ellith Melpomaen had ever seen. 'Twas no wonder Erestor lacked some inches of his father's impressive height! Melpomaen's father had undoubtedly inherited something else from his mother, though. Her amazing eyes - not the color of them, for Elain's were a pale, pure aquamarine blue - but the shape. 

She wore blue, too, the midnight blue of Elrond's house for her bodice and overskirt, and a paler blue underskirt. Iridescent gold cloth covered the ice blue folds of her underskirt, and around her neck she wore a deep green emerald with a golden sunburst at its heart. It stood for the gold on green of Arandil's coat of arms, and Melpomaen wore a much smaller emerald ring, one which had been given to Erestor by Arandil on his majority, and to Melpomaen by Erestor on his adoption. 

Melpomaen started to bow, only to have Elain's delicate hands stop him. 

"Stand still, pen-neth, and let me get a proper look at you." 

He obeyed, of course, and was rewarded with her sweet smile. Less overpowering than her husband's, but even more dear to Melpomaen, for it was so like Erestor's. 

"Aren't you a handsome young ellon!" She admired, "And you have the look of my husband's mother's family about you. We are most happy, of course, to have you as grandson, but had our son not adopted you, we would have been pleased to have you as our ward." 

"My Lady, I...." 

Elain gently tucked Melpomaen's arm in her own, "Please, no formality between us, daerion-nin. Instead, tell me of your life here. My son tells us that you are quite a scholar, and our dear Captain speaks very well of your efforts on the practice yards." 

Melpoamen assumed that the "dear Captain" in that sentence must be Lord Glorfindel, such that he found that last hard to believe, but he pinked at the praise nonetheless. Drawn into conversation by Erestor's kind and clever parents, the walk to Elrond's private dining room passed in what seemed like less than the blink of an eye to Melpomaen. But the joy in Erestor's eyes when he saw Melpomaen enter arm in arm with Elain and Arandil, that Melpomaen would remember for all the rest of his life. 

To Melpomaen's relief, no one referred to the incident that day at arms practice during dinner. His backside still felt over-warm, and a bit tender, but all of the chairs in Lord Elrond's private dining room had cushions, so it wasn't so bad. The twins were squirming a little, but not much, and no one seemed inclined to stay seated at the dining table for longer than necessary. 

Haldir and Glorfindel and the twins went to the war table, while Lord Rumil sang with Princess Gilmith and Lady Celebrian. Lord Elrond was just lying on a settee, watching his sons and his wife and even occasionally Erestor and Melpomaen and Erestor's parents with such a light of love and joy in his gray eyes. Melpomaen wasn't sure he'd ever seen the lord of Imladris look quite this happy and relaxed. 

Melpomaen had also never, quite, seen this side of his beloved new father. Arandil and Elain were seated on another low sofa. Elegant Erestor sat on the floor before them, an arm around Melpomaen who rested against his shoulder. Arandil was teasing Erestor by telling Melpomaen tales of his son's childhood malfeasance. 

"And do note, daerion-nin," said Arandil, cheerfully claiming Melpomaen as his own grandson, "That tip-toeing out on the ledge to rescue an orphaned sparrow happened even BEFORE our son your father met Celebrian." 

The lady in question laughed, and left her singing to come and sit gracefully on the floor on Erestor's other side. 

"After which," Teased Rumil, "Ada says that Bri dragged poor Erestor along in her wake, and he was the sparrow in the gale." 

Arandil and his wife shared an amused look. Melpomaen looked to his father, wondering for the first time if Erestor's childhood with Celebrian had been a bit like Melpomaen's last few years with the twins. Terrifying, but fun and wonderful. 

"I was a peregrine in the gale, thank you very much." Said Erestor, with amused dignity. "And Celebrian and I both had a very good time." 

"They were the terror of newly-founded Eregion, in their day." Agreed Arandil, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth. "Poor Lord Celeborn was torn between amusement, worry, and shock. Lady Galadriel was calm, but then she nearly always is." 

"Except when you two got lost after that frightful bully dared you to go into those sulfur-filled tunnels." Said gentle Elain, shaking her head with remembered fear. 

Erestor blushed in memory of that, to Melpomaen's interest, before saying, "Lord Celebrimbor told us, later, when we quite sore and sorry, that Lady Galadriel, when she interrogated Ratano as to our whereabouts, terrified him so thoroughly that he lost control of his bladder right there in Lord Celeborn's office." 

"Aye, he did," murmured Arandil, shaking his head, "Poor, young, vicious idiot. Made quite a mess, as I recall, but no one was worried about that, at the time. Just finding the two of you, and he was in quite a hurry to confess, after that." 

"I should imagine that he was." Said Elrond ruefully, as he, too, came over to join them. Arandil moved closer to his wife to make room for their lord, and greeted Elrond with half a hug and a father's kiss. Melpomaen was flat out staring, but he stopped when Erestor reached over to tap the tip of his nose with an amused expression, and a whispered, "flies, ion-nin." 

Elrond explained, "Aunt Galadriel was one of our favorite adults, on Balar, but the one time we locked one of Ereinion's irritating friends in a sea shack, she had us quaking in our boots, and heart-sick at disappointing her, to boot." 

"I don't know as I ever heard about that." Said Arandil thoughtfully. "Nallos?" 

"Yes, it was Nallos, after he'd been in a pompous mood." Agreed Elrond, with another rueful smile. "You were away, playing diplomat with the Edain on Erenion's behalf. Had you been there, you would have noticed that we were Up to Something, and likely put a stop to it before it got half started." 

"I did try and keep you both busy enough at lessons that you had only the afternoons to find mischief." Replied Arandil fondly. 

The twins, their ears perking up like cats hearing the flutter of bird wings, came over at the hint of tales of parental wrong-doing.

"I almost wish that Erestor had been born an age earlier." Said Arandil with fond exasperation, "As he might have had a positive impact on Elrond's and Elros' early academic career. The Valar know that there were days when I wanted to drink myself to sleep with a wine skin after staring the two of you down over books you refused to read and quills you refused to touch." 

"Did you, now, young Lord Arandil?" Said Lord Glorfindel archly, pinning Lord Arandil with a piercing stare. "I've heard that you crawled into a wine skin, after Sirion, and took two years to come back to yourself." 

"After we believed the twins dead, after Sirion." Arandil corrected with no sign of shame. "'Twas better than fading or brawling." He looked at his son, "Though had you ever tried the same, I would have put a stop to it." His gaze moved to encompass Elrond and Celebrian as well, "That goes to you two, as well." 

"Do as I say, not as I do?" Drawled the Balrog-Slayer, again criticizing Melpomaen's newly-met grandfather. Melpomaen was starting to feel a bit indignant on Lord Arandil's behalf, but the famous diplomat himself seemed not at all bothered. 

"More, learn from the foolish things I've done, so that you don't have to go through them as painfully yourself." Clarified Arandil with a good-natured smile. 

"You were patience itself with Elros and I, Uncle Arandil." Recalled Elrond, seeming to ignore his Captain's rudeness, although in other circumstances he'd given the balrog-slayer a glare, at the least, for comparable discourtesy. 

"That's not how I remember it, although Yavanna knows I tried." Said Arandil, with a weary but soft look for Elrond. "We did well enough, you and Elros and Elain and I, until I took over Cirdan's labor of trying to teach you both some rudiments of scholarship." 

"ADA was a poor student?" Blurted Elladan, shocked and fascinated. 

Lord Elrond sighed, and blushed. Elrohir grinned toothily, and even Melpomaen couldn't stop himself from leaning forward in interest.

"In a manner of speaking," Said Arandil, not looking at all inclined to save his Lord any embarrassment, "The first year that I worked with them I remember Ereinion joking that he was far more likely to see their rosy bottoms up over my knee getting smacked then their dark heads bent over the desk working. That was an exaggeration, fortunately for all three of us, but not as much of one as I'd have liked. I didn't believe in smacking elflings for not doing their lessons, as my Ada had been overstrict with me...."

"Maybe you were just a difficult elfling." Interjected Glorfindel. 

"Even if they were difficult," Continued Arandil, as if he'd never been interrupted, "But even I had to draw the line at Elros starting to eat the parchment he refused to set a quill to right in front of me, just to get a rise out of me." 

"Eat the....parchment?" Melpomaen marveled, horrified. 

Arandil favored him with a soft look. "Aye. Because just flat-out defiantly not doing his work had failed to spark my temper." 

"Did Ada try to eat his parchment, too?" 

"No, Elrohir," Said Arandil affectionately, "Your father watched in horror, clearly appalled by his twin's behavior and for once too shocked to hide it, before then running forward to kick me on the shin when I picked up Elros to smack him." 

"And found myself in the corner for my troubles, with a smacked bottom of my own, waiting for my own turn over your knee." Recollected Elrond, shaking his head at his own childhood folly. 

"Displaying their bare, red bottoms in a corner is a necessary part of the learning process for some elflings." Said Lord Glorfindel, not even looking at the twins, and sounding almost approving. 

"Oh, I would never shame a child like that." Arandil said firmly, "Children deserve respect, too, even if they do need to be corrected at times." Arandil continued, "Bare-bottomed corner time is another thing I learned not to do from my own father. I always resented it far more than I learned from it, and besides, Elrond was just trying to defend Elros. He never let Elros get into trouble on his own, always had to jump in, even if he secretly agreed with whomever was scolding Elros." 

Elrond's twin sons nodded, as if that was exactly the way it should be. Melpomaen sighed. 

"Elrond," Remarked Elain fondly, "Took that to the extent of doing his homework, memorizing it so that he could check his answers when Arandil taught them their lesson the next day, and then burning it, so that Elros wouldn't look bad by comparison when he refused to do his." 

"I remember that." Said Elrond, with a faint smile, "I was actually relieved when Arandil caught on, so that I didn't have to keep working harder to learn in secret, and I could actually write down my questions for him to answer. Although I hated having to take lessons in a separate classroom from Elros, to convince us to show our own efforts, even if it was only a week before you relented." 

Erestor laughed. "Atto, you did that to Celebrian and I, as well." 

"He did." Said Celebrian, with a dimpled grin, "After he caught Erestor moving his desk so that I could see better to cheat off of him, for the third time." 

"Some disciplinarian you were." Remarked Glorfindel of Arandil. 

"And yet," said Arandil calmly, "My own son was considered a model of decorum upon achieving his majority. He was even made Aran Ereinion's youngest ever Advisor. Whereas your son my Lord Captain....." 

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes dangerously. Melpomaen shrunk a bit against Erestor, who tightened his grip on Melpomaen's shoulders, even as he shook his head as if to say that Melpomaen being intimidated by Glorfindel was silly. Melpomaen knew that Erestor thought that; but the balrog-slayer had a soft spot for Erestor, everybody knew that. For Erestor, and for the twins, but Melpomaen still found Captain Glorfindel both scary and unpredictable. 

"My son," Hissed Captain Glorfinel, "Was and is the best of ellyn, and I will not stand still while you - or anyone else- say a word against him!" 

If Melpomaen were Arandil, he would have been apologizing profusely, whilst quaking in fear. 

"Ah, yes, you reserve the right to criticize him to yourself." Remarked Arandil, still calm, and even seeming a bit pleased with himself. 

Glorfindel's body language shifted in less than an instant from angry to languorous and amused, the kind of mood that he would get into before he playfully tossed one of the twins into the river, to make the point that the armor they had elected to wear that day was too heavy. Oh, he always fished them out before they could actually swallow more than a few mouthfuls of water, but still....

Someone who did not know Lord Glorfindel would not find this mood intimidating, but Arandil must know him fairly well, Melpomaen reflected, because the great diplomat wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders before quickly changing the subject. Glorfindel was too much the gentleman to pick up Arandil and toss him, say, into the snow, when doing so would mean disturbing a lady, let alone one whom Glorfindel seemed to revere as much as he did Elain. 

The topic of conversation moved back to Erestor and Celebrian's youthful foibles, and Melpomaen relaxed more and more as he realized that his father must not think him so disappointing, and Arandil and Elain must not be appalled to have found themselves with a grandson who'd hit a bully, since ERestor as an elfling had been not at all unlike Melpomaen. And Celebrian - and even Lord Elrond - were far more like the twin sons than anyone ever would have thought, just knowing the twins and their parents now. 

Melpomaen fell asleep listening to the adults talking, and woke up in his own bedroom, with Elladan half-draped over his right side and Elrohir sleeping on his left. 

"I need a bigger bed." Melpomaen thought to himself, before prodding the twins awake to dress for their long day of punishment chores. 

Melpomaen and the twins did apologize to Belegarth, Haldanar, and Saelorn. It was easier to not hate doing so than Melpomaen had expected, with the trainees clearly still sore and miserable. The six young ellyn did not exactly work in concert and camraderie, but they all let one another get on with shoveling stables, polishing weapons, and scrubbing privies. Glorfindel and the stablemaster and everyone else who stopped by to check on them seemed guardedly pleased. They were even let off early, on the pretense of checking on the pygmy oliphaunts and jaguar, but really,they would have been doing that anyway. And no one complained when the Three Numbskulls went off, likely to seek their beds. 

It was on the way back from an enjoyable hour with the animals that a strange thing happened. 

Both twins paused for a moment, as if they could hear some sound which Melpomaen could not. Then Elrohir blinked and Elladan shook his head, as if to clear it. 

"We have to go find pigeons." Said Elladan. 

"Pigeons." Repeated Melpomaen, torn between disbelief and concern. The twins often came up with ideas without using many words, but this was the first time he'd ever seen them do so without at least making hand signs at one another. "Why?" He asked, quickening his pace to follow as the twins went off in the direction of the kitchens.

The twins looked to one another, flickered their fingers and raised their eyebrows. Then they stopped again, with the same blank expression on their faces. Elrohir came out of it first, nodding as if pleased. 

Elladan smiled, "The pigeons are for a distraction." 

"Because Ada asked." Elrohir quickly added. "And he said we could tell you, so that you could help." 

"Help limit the damage, is actually what Ada said." Elladan reported, appearing both amused and a bit offended. 

"Lord Elrond....he asked you to...but why?" Melpomaen spluttered incredulously. 

Elrohir raised a hand, palm up, to indicate he didn't know. 

"We didn't ask. He's only just recently started to trust us to do things like this for him." Explained Elladan.

"He is our Lord." Said Elrohir unctuously. Then, appearing more his age and rather proud, he added, "And it is nice to be trusted by him. Even if it is just to cause a distraction." 

Trusting the twins to cause a distraction was rather like trusting rain to be wet, so Melpomaen felt that Lord Elrond was rather safe, in that regard. Why Elrond would ask, Melpomaen was less sure of, but he was their Lord, and Imladris was a strange and wonderful place, and it wasn't as if Lord Elrond hadn't trusted the twins with odd and probably not completely above-the-board errands before. At least once, he'd done so in order to protect Melpomaen. The twins, when asked to do something by someone they respected, could be relied upon utterly, both for their action and discretion. It could be nothing short of terrifying. Keeping them from overdoing was actually the harder task, but Melpomaen was up to it. He hoped. 

In no time at all, the cage full of pigeons which had been destined for the evening's pigeon pie were all fluttering around the corridors, being chased by a mean-tempered cat which Imladris' castellan, nicknamed "Lady Fuss" by the twins, was particularly fond of. Erestor and then Celebrian came out to help soothe ruffled feathers - the cooks', the staff's, and the courtiers' as well as the pigeons'. The twins and Melpomaen were viewed as innocents by most of the assembled, except for Celebrian, who told them to help clean up the mess, with a certain look in her eye. Considering that Celebrian was probably going to spend at least the next hour talking Chief Cook Carmave into letting his great-niece keep a pigeon as a pet, Melpomaen thought that was probably fair. 

Lord Elrond did not inform Melpomaen and the twins as to why he'd required a distraction, but he did thank them with a twinkle in his eye as they went into dinner. This evening it was a formal reception in the airy great hall of the Last Homely House, so there were fewer opportunities to speak more with his new grandparents. Melpomaen was disappointed, but Lady Elain and Lord Arandil both smiled at him. Lady Elain danced with him, later, and promised that they would be sure to spend more time with him soon.


	31. Consequences Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quotes: 
> 
> "Don't hold your parents up to contempt. After all, you are their son, and it is just possible that you may take after them." - Evelyn Waugh
> 
> “No one is ever quite ready; everyone is always caught off guard. Parenthood chooses you. And you open your eyes, look at what you've got, say "Oh, my gosh," and recognize that of all the balls there ever were, this is the one you should not drop. It's not a question of choice.” -Marisa de los Santos, Love Walked In Quotes by Marisa de los Santos

Arandil, at least, kept that promise entirely earlier than Melpomaen might have wished. Pre-dawn arms practice was not to Melpomaen's taste. Erestor had made it somewhat better by starting the habit of waking Melpomaen with strong tea and a light breakfast, taken together in Melpomaen's chamber. It was a surprise to find Arandil there, as well, but Erestor's father quickly put Melpomaen at his ease. To Melpomaen's relief, for he was not a morning elf, Erestor and Arandil seemed content to largely keep up a conversation between themselves. Erestor even toned down his typical fond teasing of Melpomaen for Melpomaen's morning sluggishness, although his dark eyes shone with humor at Melpomaen's frequent yawns. 

And Erestor waited until Arandil was occupied with admiring Melpomaen's sketches and essays before reminding his son, "You still owe Captain Glorfindel an apology for your intemperate words of two days ago, ion-nin." 

Melpomaen knew that was so, and was embarrassed that Erestor had to remind him, but the very prospect of approaching the Balrog-slayer one-on-one, after having been so very disrespectful, had him so intimidated that he felt nearly ill. 

That, unfortunately, did attract Lord Arandil's attention. But to Melpoamen's surprise, Erestor's father did not further chide his adopted grandson for poor behavior and disrespect to such a fine elf, but rather laughed and took pains to reassure Melpomaen. 

"The great Captain is just being difficult because he can, inyonya. It is what he does whenever he can't control and protect everyone around him. Do take him with a grain of salt. He is quite the household tabby, at heart. Much like Chief Cook Carmave." 

"Flies, ion-nin." Erestor gently reminded Melpoamen, whose mouth was again gaping open in surprise. 

"Ah....if you say so, Sir." Melpomaen answered dubiously. 

Arandil winced. "Please do call me 'Daerada,' if you will, Melpomaen. Or at least Arandil, or cousin Arandil. You are my grandson, first, but you are also my cousin. You are not my retainer or my soldier. And "Sir" makes me look about for my father, when he is in a mood and I have just erred as his soldier, which once I was, 'ere he died." 

Lord Glorfindel came into the room just then, an odd look on his face. 

Arandil greeted the Balrog-slayer with a nod and twinkling eyes before continuing, "You see, Melpomaen, my father would bellow like a rhinoceros in heat when someone displeased him, and calling him "Sir" was the most reliable way to calm him down, even if in my head I was silently adding "donkey" to the end of "Sir." 

"Yes, Si....um,...." Stammered Melpomaen.

"It's not that hard, daerion-nin." Arandil said, affectionate and understanding. "I love you already, and would be pleased to have you address me as "Daerada," or "Anatar," if you prefer the Quenya. But just my name is fine, for now and for however long it is easier on you." 

"Don't give Melpomaen a hard time, Atto." Reproached Erestor, his hand coming to rest on Melpomaen's shoulder. 

Melpomaen wasn't sure what to do. "Daerada" or "Anatar" seemed presumptuous, but just "cousin" seemed rude, as if they were equals, when Arandil was an honored elder and had once been regent of Lindon itself. Melpomaen was glad to have Erestor spare him the trouble of deciding. 

Glorfindel glared at all of them, and then began berating them for being late to arms practice again. He appeared, to Melpomaen, ready and willing to bodily carry all three of them if they didn't move more quickly. 

"Yes, sir." Arandil said to Glorfindel, impish and wry and moving just out of arm's reach and out into the busy corridor with truly impressive speed. 

"I'm going to thrash him." Glorfindel muttered. 

"Anatar...." Erestor reproved lightly, coughing to hide a laugh. "I think you're just encouraging him." 

"He's impossible." Complained Glorfindel. 

"Hmm." Commented Erestor neutrally, with dancing eyes. Melpomaen wished that someone would tell him what the joke was. 

Arms practice wasn't that bad, with patient Erestor there to coach and encourage Melpomaen. Arandil managed to avoid the session by claiming that Elrond needed him. Melpomaen was jealous, and curious as to how long that tactic was going to work for his new-found grandfather. Elrond was normally fairly good about attending arms practice at least once a day, much better about it than Erestor, in fact. 

It was on the following day that Melpomaen got to find out what kind of warrior the great pacifist could be. Arandil was famous - or infamous - for not even carrying a sword when the elven realms were not actively at war. He had stayed until nearly the dire end in Eregion, survived no less than a hundred attempted assassinations by Sauron in the guise of Lord Annatar, and had never even drawn a blade in his own defense. He had, on several occasions, TAKEN blades belonging to those who had tried to kill his wife, and done whatever was necessary to protect her and her ladies. Melpomaen had heard all the stories from Elladan and Elrohir, and sometimes even Lady Celebrian, all three of whom were present in the gray morning, watching Arandil with bright eyed interest. 

For most of the hour, Arandil managed to avoid actively engaging with anyone. He laughed, and coached Lady Bedhilien at archery. He smiled, and showed the twins' friend Thenithol the best way to disarm an elf with only a handful of dust. Captain Glorfindel, on the other hand, seemed to grow more and more annoyed as the practice continued. Erestor did his best to soothe his esteemed Captain's temper, even when Glorfindel berated Erestor on the practice field as if he were no more than a clumsy elfling trainee who had been remiss in his drills. 

"Do not worry, valiant balrog-slayer." Drawled Erestor's father the respected ambassador, "I know with assurance that my son's skills and judgment were such that you yourself insisted he accompany Elrond's muster to face the Enemy at Mordor." 

"Atar, Anatar, you don't need to...." Erestor interceded, trying to calm the situation. 

Glorfindel, who normally at least stopped to listen to whatever Erestor had to say, seemed to have no interest in avoiding a confrontation with Arandil. Melpomaen couldn't entirely blame him. Arandil's tone, if not his words, had been slightly disrespectful, although Melpomaen was proud of Erestor's father for standing up for Erestor. 

"It is not your son's training and skill at arms which displease me, Lord Arandil." Said Glorfindel, tall and imposing and towering even over Arandil, "How would you acquit yourself, had you need to defend your Lord and Lady? Or their young sons, or your own grandson?" 

"With first my words, and my wit, 'ere I drew a sword." Riposted Arandil, still smiling. "For even the best of swords may fail, and even the most loyal of swordsmen." 

Melpomaen thought that Glorfindel might have softened, just for an instant. But Melpomaen might have imagined that, for the next thing the Balrog-slayer did was to command Arandil to take up the sword he decried using, and show that he was still fit to defend himself as their Lord's servant. Lord Elrond required that all of his elves be trained in the arts of defense, and Glorfindel was entrusted with seeing to that. So the Captain was entirely within his rights, nor did Arandil contest that. At least not openly. 

"I would, of course, good my Lord," Replied Arandil cheerfully, "But alas, I do not have a sword. Our Lord Elrond does not insist that his elves OWN their own armor and weaponry, after all. Perhaps one of your fine young elves would permit me to borrow one of theirs?"

The twins and Thenithol immediately offered. After a few moments hesitation, a score of other trainees and young soldiers followed suit. Melpomaen didn't really approve of the near open disrespect Lord Arandil was showing to Captain Glorfindel, but in a show of solidarity with his new grandfather, he offered his sword, as well. Arandil gave him a wink and a smile, but Glorfindel put a stop to the whole display. 

"How fortunate, then," Said the Balrog-slayer wryly, "that I took the liberty of having a new sword commissioned to replace the last one you gave away." 

"He gave it away to a Swan Knight, the new made Lord of Anfalas." Whispered Elladan. 

"Shh, nephew." Said Erestor, resignedly amused. Putting one arm around Melpomaen's shoulders and the other around Elladan's, Erestor explained, "Melpomaen has never seen this show before." 

Glorfindel, meanwhile, had waved master weapon smith Hyandon forward, with a long narrow box. As Hyandon opened the wooden lid, the warm morning sun finally appeared from between the clouds, shimmering off of the finely crafted metal within. Even the twins, who frequently haunted the smithies and armories and were well acquainted with masterful weaponry, whistled as Arandil withdrew the blade with reluctant admiration.

"You have outdone yourself, this time, Master Smith." Arandil said softly. Melpomaen couldn't help but agree. The blade seemed strong and well-balanced to him, which was of course the most important thing, and also of a proper if perhaps slightly large size for the slender Lord Arandil. It was also decorated, with one of Arandil's emeralds on the pommel and another on the crosspiece. Emeralds of deepest green, with shining gold starbursts at the center. 

"Practice, m'Lord Arandil." Replied Master Smith Hyandon with tired patience, and perhaps a touch of amusement. He, too, stayed to watch. Melpomaen also noticed the arrival of Haldir and a grinning Rumil, with a confused Gilmith in tow. Celebrian, standing beside Elrohir, drew Haldir closer to her, while Rumil whispered something into Gilmith's ear. 

Arandil lifted the sword, holding it awkwardly in his hand as if it were a snake which might strike him. Without even moving through even a simple solo drill to learn the balance of the blade, he nodded to Glorfindel to begin. He even left the Balrog-slayer the reach, standing as flat-footed and inexpertly as if he were a raw novice, which, if he’d fought in the War of Wrath, he couldn’t possibly be.

Melpomaen was quite worried. Glorfindel's patience and sense of restraint when it came to this beloved discipline were not something to write home about in any case, and if there was a checklist of things to do to annoy the Balrog-slayer, Melpomaen was fairly sure that Arandil had managed to hit every one of them, in a surprisingly short amount of time, even small mistakes that Melpomaen would never have conceived of.

"Erestor, Ada, Captain Glorfinel won't kill your father, will he?" Melpoamen inquired, genuinely concerned. 

Erestor favored him with a fond, reassuring look. "No, ion-nin. Watch." 

It was Glorfindel who attacked first, almost to Melpomaen's surprise. 

"Point the first to Atar Arandil." Murmured Celebrian, an amused smile curving her pretty lips.

Arandil didn't so much meet Glorfindel's first blow as dance around it, forcing the Balrog-slayer to come after him, and then dodging, ducking and weaving. Yes, Arandil’s sword met the Balrog-Slayer's again and again, but only glancing blows, as he moved between the more experienced soldiers and stationary practice dummies, fighting mainly by being where Glorfindel wasn't. Arandil made mistake after mistake as the bout continued, errors that even Melpomaen knew better than to commit. Yet, somehow, he managed to make Glorfindel appear clumsy, too, and Melpomaen couldn’t recall if he’d EVER seen anyone do that before.

It was both impressive and bizarre, and Melpomaen wasn't the only one gasping with awe and surprise as the bout continued. Glorfindel seemed determined to make a point of Arandil; Melpomaen would have expected him to win the duel quickly, with Arandil down in the dust. Perhaps helped up, only to receive a hard swat to the rear with the flat of Glorfindel's sword. The Balrog-slayer had never done that to Melpomaen, thankfully, but the twins and a number of Glorfindel's trainees and soldiers had been chastised thusly for making mistakes when they should have known better, and that after only one such obvious mistake! Melpomaen was no warrior, but he'd counted at least five. He would say that Lord Arandil was a poor swordsman, save that the bout was still going, and staying away from the great Captain Glorfindel for this long was no easy task. 

After what seemed like an impressively long time to Melpomaen, Arandil tripped. He managed to dodge and recover, darting between the startled Lieutenant Eglandor and the more prepared Lieutenant Caradhon. It was very close though, and Glorfindel almost growled in frustration. 

"Are you sure that the Captain isn't going to hurt him?" Melpoamen whispered to Erestor. 

Erestor pressed his lips together in amusement, and shook his head, his eyes never moving away from the duel before them. 

"Glor is actually pissed that he nearly had Arandil, not that he didn't." Said Elrohir, not quite softly enough not to be overheard by those nearest them. Celebrian ignored the slightly vulgar language, but Haldir reached forward to flick Elrohir's ear. 

"He's tiring." Commented Celebrian, of Arandil. 

"Not entirely surprising." Replied Erestor. "He runs every day, but he was ill-used in the south, tracking the...you know." 

"Mmm." Answered Celebrian. "Pity, I'd been looking forward to him teaching Glorfindel a much needed lesson in humility." 

"It's not over until it's over." Was all Erestor said in reply. 

But it did look to be almost over. Arandil tripped again, and Glorfindel moved, quicker than a striking snake, to tumble Arandil over his hip. The diplomat fell, hard, on his back. To Melpomaen's surprise, Glorfindel looked almost disappointed rather than gloating, as he moved his sword towards Arandil's throat to force him to yield and end the match. But with the tip of his blade just a few inches from the younger elf's throat, the Balrog-slayer froze. Completely. 

Arandil smirked. Melpomaen's jaw dropped as he realized that the diplomat was holding a very short, very sharply pointed dagger pressed up right against Glorfindel's femoral artery, just above the knee. 

Caradhon swore and reached down to slap at his boot, making Melpomaen realize that the dagger must belong to Caradhon, and that Arandil's clumsiness, at least that time, had been no such thing. 

"If you can't win in a fair fight," Gasped the diplomat, panting from exertion, "Then turn it into one you can win. Do you yield, Sir?" 

Glorfindel said something softly in Quenya that Melpomaen couldn't understand. Whatever it was made Arandil pull the dagger away, and lie down in the dirt on his back, still breathing heavily. 

It was Erestor who went forward to offer his father a hand up. Glorfindel just stood back, glaring in disapproval. 

Even covered in dust and sweat, Lord Arandil could play to an audience. He turned to the rapt semi-circle of elves, which had grown from an original knot of maybe two dozen to nearly a hundred while Melpomaen was watching the duel. Lord Elrond was there, as well, with one of his hands resting on Elrohir's shoulder. 

"I thought he had you, Uncle Arandil!" Called Elrond's heir in cheerful admiration. 

Arandil smiled, "As the greatest warrior I've ever known once told me- the fight is never over until it is over. And the strong should be most wary when they are about to win. Isn't that how you slayed a balrog, Captain Glorfindel?" He asked, turning towards that worthy, who was still watching the proceedings with his arms crossed. 

Glorfindel sighed, and reached out his arm in a warrior's hand clasp. Arandil took it, and Glorfindel pulled him in, hard. 

Melpomaen, who had moved forward with Erestor, was just close enough to hear Glorfindel growl at Arandil, "The most promising apprentice I've ever had, and you gave it all up to push parchment and lie to pompous blowhards." 

Melpomaen stared, fascinated and shocked to hear that Glorfindel and Arandil had known one another that well, that Arandil the pacifist had ever trained with Glorfindel the Hero. It didn't even make sense! The twins had told Melpomaen that Arandil had put up his sword right after the War of Wrath, and everyone knew that Glorfindel had died at the Fall of Gondolin. Arandil, so far as Melpomaen knew, was from Nargothorond, so when had they even met? At the Battle of Unnumbered Tears perhaps, but would they have spent long enough together for Glorfindel to call Arandil his apprentice? 'Twas an accolade the Balrog-slayer gave to very few, and one the twins greatly aspired to achieve one day. 

Arandil lifted his chin. "I make my own choices." He told Glorfindel defiantly, "And I've been lying to pompous blowhards since before I could walk." 

"I am not....," Glorfindel began to retort heatedly, before cutting himself off abruptly. Then he sighed. "Go, Arandil," He commanded, "Put ice on your ankle." 

Melpomaen paused to consider that Arandil had never actually said that he was from Nargothorond, just that he didn't like to talk about it.. More surprising yet, the tone that Captain Glorfindel used, it was the one that he saved for those he really liked - and before today, Melpomaen hadn't realized that Glorfindel liked Arandil. 

Arandil who was defying him yet again. 

"Just because I put up my sword doesn't mean I am a weakling, Captain. I can finish out the drill." 

"I wasn't asking." Said Glorfindel, his voice hard. 

To Melpomaen's surprise and mingled relief and disappointment, Arandil did as Glorfindel instructed, the cheek and polite defiance he'd here-to-fore shown the balrog-slayer nowhere in evidence. Still not even limping, he went to Elrond, and the two of them walked back in the direction of the Hall. 

The rest of the practice was anticlimactic, yet almost agonizing for Melpomaen because he had to wait until it was finished to interrogate the twins. 

"Who hurt Lord Arandil?" Melpomaen aid, feeling fiercely protective of his newly-met grandfather. 

"Some Southron scum." Spat Elrohir. 

"Arandil and Gilmith were trying to find where that old bag Fanwien found the poisoned ring that she gave to Prince Galador, Gilmith's brother, the one that nearly killed him and almost made him kill Uncle Orophin." Elladan expanded. 

"Oh." Said Melpomaen, knowing that story, but not having realized that it had so much to do with why Arandil and his company were in Imladris, now, and likely also why Arandil and Elain had not come to visit sooner. 

"Lord Arandil went with someone Glorfindel said that he should have known better than to trust, and got hurt." 

"We haven't been able to find out anything more. Maybe you can ask Erestor? He's more likely to tell you important things than anyone is us." Elladan asked hopefully. 

"I think that's just because I know when not to ask, gwador." Said Melpomaen apologetically. 

And none of the twins' wheedling could persuade Melpomaen to change his mind. He might still ask Erestor; but if he did, it would be because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He wouldn't badger his father to tell him something that Lord Elrond, Erestor, Lord Arandil, Lady Celebrian, and Captain Glorfindel had decided to keep quiet. This was why adults told him things, after all. The twins did seem to understand that, eventually, and Melpomaen couldn't blame them for wanting to know more. They'd known and loved Arandil for far longer than Melpomaen, and that was why they wanted to know, not just their normal insatiable curiosity. 

Melpomaen parted ways with the twins after they'd bathed and dressed for the day. The twins had a mathematics lesson. Melpomaen had the morning free. He summoned his courage, and went to beard the balrog in his lair. Or rather, he went and politely knocked on the door of Captain Glorfindel's office. 

"Come." Called the Balrog-slayer, typically impatient. Not to Melpomaen's surprise, the Vanya was holding a quill, squinting at a mangled bit of parchment, and frowning. Lord the Captain Glorfindel did not care for routine administration. He pawned a lot of it off onto Erestor or his lieutenants, which sometimes bothered Melpomaen. It didn't seem to bother Erestor, though, and Lord Glorfindel did work very hard, just not...not with a quill and parchment. 

"What do you want, Melpomaen?" The Balrog-slayer asked brusquely, without even looking up. 

Melpoamen squeaked in surprise, and started wringing his hands. 

"Stop that." Said Glorfindel, looking up now. 

"Ye...yes, Sir." Melpomaen stuttered, "Um, I mean....I came to apologize, Captain, for the other day. I was unforgivably rude to you, and to Erestor, and...." 

"You're forgiven." Glorfindel interrupted, his cobalt eyes fixed on Melpomaen. "Don't do it again." With that, the Balrog-slayer turned back to his work. 

Melpomaen stared, shocked and relieved that it had been so easy. 

Glorfindel looked up again, "Was there something else?" 

"Umm." Said Melpomaen. There hadn't been, but actually there was, and he suddenly couldn't stop himself from saying it. "Yes, umm, I'd like to ask....not that I have the right to ask, but, he's my father now, and I know that Lord Arandil has been disrespectful to you at times, but he's my grandfather now, and it just....it just doesn't seem respectful, the way you reprimand Erestor and Lord Arandil both as if they're elflings, and ummm.....I'd like you to stop." Melpomaen finished quietly, horrified at his temerity and quite sure that he was about to die. 

Lord Glorfindel stared at him for almost a minute. Then he got to his feet, laying the quill down carelessly on a ledger and putting his hands down, palms flat, on the desk. 

"You want me to stop." He repeated slowly. 

Melpoamen nodded. 

"A verbal answer, elfilng." 

"Yes." Melpomaen croaked. 

Glorfindel nodded, an odd expression on his face. His eyes narrowed, and he said, "I will give you one last chance to withdraw that request and leave here quietly." 

Melpomaen stayed put, and his shoulders straightened. His best friends had always promised Melpomaen that Lord Glorfindel did not, in fact, eat elflings, and actually did rather like Melpomaen. The twins were not usually bad judges of character, and besides, Melpomaen had both Erestor and Arandil who would kill Glorfindel if Glorfindel killed Melpomaen. 

"Very well." Said Glorfindel, suddenly smiling. "You are a brave young thing, Melpomaen Erestorion. I've learned that before, of course, but it always pleases me to see it again. Sit." 

"Umm." Replied Melpomaen inarticulately, struck dumb for a second time with shock and relief. 

"Sit down, Melpoamen." Glorfindel commanded, gesturing towards one of the comfortable chairs by the window rather than to the hard wooden chairs before his desk. 

Melpomaen obeyed. It would have been foolish and insane not to. Glorfindel sat down across from him, eyeing Melpomaen as if Glorfindel were a cat and Melpomaen a mouse who'd done something particularly amusing. Then his expression changed, became something that Melpomaen could not quite read. 

"It does you honor that you would defend your father and grandfather." 

Melpomaen sighed in relief. 

Glorfindel smiled faintly. "Would it change your perspective to know that Erestor is, in fact, my grandson?" 

Melpomaen found himself speechless for a third time. 

"A verbal answer, Melpomaen. I do not approve of this goldfish-like expression, or stammering." 

"It...it would radically change my perspective, Captain, sir." Melpomaen managed, terrified rather than offended to be compared to a goldfish, although offended may well come later. For now, beyond his fright and bone-deep shock, he was putting together a lot of little things that had never made sense before, or at least he had never realized them, or had lacked the context to put them in the proper...perspective. 

Erestor, when he scowled, intimidated Melpomaen not just because Melpomaen hated to see him upset, but also because he resembled Glorfindel. Arandil's hazel eyes were familiar because they were the same shape as Glorfindel's. Sometimes the things that Arandil said, sounded familiar, because they were a much more verbose and diplomatic way of saying the same things that Glorfindel was wont to say. But WHAT Arandil had said to Glorfindel.....and what Glorfindel had put up with, from him....

"But that makes Arandil....." Melpomaen marveled, thinking that Glorfindel must be ENTIRELY more patient than Melpomaen had ever given him credit for. 

"My only and dearly beloved son," Said Glorfindel wryly, "And the elf who frustrates me more than anyone else in all of existence, including Erestor when he forgets to sleep and Elrond when he's in one of those moods." 

"You are proud of him, you said so the other night...." 

"I am." 

"But then why....." 

Glorfindel's face darkened. "You are not a fool, Melpomaen. Why do you think I might not want it known that Aran Ereinion's traveling diplomat, now Elrond's emissary, is my son?" 

Melpomaen had to pause to think about that, but as soon as he did it became clear to him. He would have comprehended it at once, if he hadn't been so overwhelmed. Of all beings alive on Middle Earth, what was left of Sauron hated Glorfindel almost as much as it hated Galadriel, Elrond, Celeborn and Thranduil. 

"Because it would be dangerous, for him. And Lady Elain." Melpomaen whispered. 

"More dangerous." Glorfindel corrected, scowling. "And Arandil finds enough trouble on his own, for which I only have myself to blame." 

"Erm." Said Melpomaen. 

Glorfindel gave Melpomaen a reproving look, but let that bit of inarticulate stammering slide, kindly choosing instead to explain, "Erestor is the soul of discretion, but he is not always good at dissembling. So, for my pleasure as well as his ease, we let him call me grandfather, and put it out that it is a term of both respect and a jest about my age. Keeping the matter secret has protected Erestor, as well. When first I learned that Glorendil - Arandil- had survived, Erestor needed that protection. He was nearly as bad at defending himself as you are, now." 

Why Glorfindel was so hard on Erestor made sense to Melpomaen, now. Hard, yes, but indulgent, at times, too, and very fond. It all made sense now. 

"Was I the only one who didn't know?" Melpomaen asked, unaccountably hurt. 

"You were not told because of your tender age." Glorfindel told him bluntly. "Not because you are unimportant or unloved. Elladan and Elrohir do not know, either. Erestor wished to tell you, when he adopted you, but I refused him." Glorfindel gave Melpomaen a rare approving look, "I changed my mind, or rather, you changed it for me." 

Overwhelmed all over again as he realized that it had been Glorfindel's right to to deny Erestor's request because it was Glorfindel, not easygoing Arandil, who was in truth the head of Melpomaen's new family, Melpomaen wondered how anyone could live up to being the Balrog-slayer's son, or grandson, and moreover, how disappointed Glorfindel must be, with Melpomaen as a great-grandson. 

"This," Said Glorfindel quietly, as he reached out and tapped the golden-hearted emerald on Melpomaen's finger, "Is the ring I had made for my son, for Glorendil who now calls himself Arandil, upon his coming-of-age. He gave it to Erestor, when Erestor left Eregion just after his own coming-of-age, to go to Lindon and become the youngest ever apprentice of the great scholar Pengolodh. Erestor gave this ring to you, last autumn, when he adopted you. And Melpomaen - he did so with my blessing." 

Melpomaen dared to look up and meet the great elven warrior's eyes. In those cobalt blue depths, he saw for the first time - or perhaps recognized, for the first time- pride. And worry, and protectiveness, and even love. 

"Thank you, Sir." Said Melpomaen, sincere, and not knowing what else to say. 

Glorfindel nodded, and covered Melpomaen's hand with his own. "The lords of my house have always served Turgon and his heirs, and loved them, too. It has been one of my greatest regrets, that my grandson did not have an heir to be the friend that Elrohir and Elladan have needed. Now, he does, and I am glad for it. The three of you are good for one another." 

"We are." Melpomaen agreed, with a shy and somewhat surprised smile. Many people said that Melpomaen was a good influence on the twins; few realized that it went both ways. That Glorfindel did pleased Melpomaen, but then, the Balrog-slayer knew Elrohir and Elladan better than most. 

Glorfindel chuckled, his mood changing from solemn to merry as sudden as the wind upon the sea. He clapped Melpomaen fondly on the shoulder. "If there's nothing else, elfling, then off you go." 

"Yes, Sir." Said Melpomaen, with another shy smile. He paused at the door, and turned back to offer, "If you need a scribe...." 

Glorfindel looked up from where he had already been scowling again at the quill and parchment. He smiled, "If I do, I know where to find you." Then the Balrog-slayer's smile turned into a grin, the same cat-that-got-the-canary-grin that sometimes graced Arandil's face, and he added, "And, Melpomaen? You may tell Erestor of our conversation, if you wish. In fact, I would encourage you to do so. And you may even tell your gwedyr, if you think that they can be discreet." 

Melpomaen glowed inside with the trust that showed. 

"But," Glorfindel continued, still grinning, "Do me a favor, and don't say anything to Arandil, or let anyone else do so, either. I'd like him to find out on his own." 

Melpomaen had to cough to hide a laugh, and cheerfully assented. 

 

[Erestor POV] 

Erestor loved his parents. He truly did. From his very early years as an adult, he had counted them amongst his friends as well as mother and father. But they had a certain habit, of making things look too easy. And they were doing it again. 

Erestor loved his grandfather. He truly did. But Glorfindel was....intimidating. Overpowering, at times. Erestor could usually hold his own, but fatherhood was new to him. Glorfindel had many opinions, some of which he was not averse to expressing with force when he felt Erestor was about to make an error. Glorfindel LIKED Melpomaen, that wasn't the problem. It was more that he was certain that the way to make Melpomaen feel more comfortable was to be more stern with him, and set firm boundaries and expectations. Erestor was fairly sure that wasn't what Melpomaen needed, and had mostly taken his grandfather's parenting advice with a grain of salt. He had, in fact, been about to do so the day his parents arrived. If it had been up to Erestor, he likely would have let Melpomaen's starting a fight - well, the physical portion of a fight - with Glorfindel's most obnoxious trainees go without more than a lecture and a slap on the wrist. 

Glorfindel had put his foot down, insisting on consequences for Erestor's new son, and the youngest heir of Glorfindel's own house, having struck another elf on Glorfindel's own practice courts. Well, actually, it was his strong left hand that Glorfindel had put down, hard and repeatedly, on Erestor's abruptly bared backside. Spending seventh day morning learning that his dearly beloved elfling had been in a fight with three just-past-elflings who should have known better than to keep tormenting others, arguing with his grandfather, and then finding himself bent over his own desk getting the first spanking he'd taken in years had been bad enough, but then there had been actually dealing with Melpomaen. 

His elfling had been so uncertain! And for once, Glorfindel had perhaps been right, that something more was called for. Certainly, Melpomaen seemed steadier now, than he had been. But that was in part the influence of Erestor’s parents, who had taken to grandparenting the way they took to everything. Like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. After just three nights in their company, they had succeeded in putting Melpomaen more at his ease than Erestor had ever seen him when he was in a larger company than just Erestor himself, or the twins.

Of course, part of their trick for doing so was to tell Melpomaen of the many and storied ways in which a much younger Erestor and Celebrian had found trouble in Eregion.

“Yes, Atto and Amme, please do continued to tell my young, impressionable son about all of my elflinghood mistakes.” Erestor commented with asperity during a private dinner with Elrond and his “family,” including Erestor, his parents, Melpomaen and Glorfindel, but not Celebrian’s adopted brothers and Princess Gilmith, who were at a festive get together with some of the other young adult elves. 

Melpomaen gave Erestor a sweet, fond, apologetic look, before protesting, “I like hearing about you when you were younger, Erestor.”

That was all it really took to make Erestor soften, but perhaps the twins didn’t realize.

“Melpomaen’s not really that impressionable.” Commented Elrohir, “If he doesn't think something's a good idea, there's no budging him.” Elrohir seemed torn between admiration and annoyance.

“Not that we've tried.” Elladan added quickly.

“Right.” Agreed Elrohir unconvincingly.

Elrond hid a laugh, and Erestor just sighed, bestowing a fond, grateful glance upon Melpomaen. His adopted elfling returned it with a half-grin. The twins had grown up a great deal since befriending Melpomaen, and if they were occasionally even more competent about their mischief due to his involvement, well, that was usually an acceptable price to pay. Erestor didn’t even want to know what plans Melpomaen had vetoed in the bud before they had a chance to half get started. He wondered if he should ask, anyway. Before he could decide, his father distracted him by starting on yet another reminisce of Arandil’s own elflinghood, in which his overly strict and less-than-perceptive father featured in poor light. Little did Arandil know that everyone present was now aware that the father in question was Glorfindel, and from the twinkle in the Balrog-slayer’s eyes, he was waiting for the most opportune – or inopportune – moment to let his son know.

Erestor had to look down at his napkin to avoid giving the game away. His eyes met his own son’s. Melpomaen was doing the same thing, looking away to avoid laughing. Erestor was quite relieved, and pleased, to have Melpomaen know more of the truth of the family he had been adopted into. Erestor had been more surprised to learn that Elrohir and Elladan had already known of the relationship between himself and Glorfindel for almost a dozen years, but had elected not to say anything because it seemed important to the adults in their life to keep it a secret. It was a surprisingly mature decision for the twins to have made at the tender age of twenty-and-eight, the equivalent of about a human twelve, but that was very much like Elrond’s sons. Surprisingly mature and sensitive at times, and shockingly unaware at others.

The inevitable finally happened, and Arandil set out running with Glorfindel in close pursuit. Erestor wasn’t particularly worried. The odd, antagonistic relationship between his calm father and his imposing newly-met grandfather had thrown him, at first. But it was how they related to one another, and it seemed to work for them, and even Erestor had to agree that it was fine entertainment.

The twins were loudly cheering, Elladan for Glorfindel and Elrohir for Arandil, and placing bets. Erestor at times wondered how it was possible that Glorfindel and the twins were NOT related by blood, since they seemed to share a very similar sense of humor. Finding out that the great reborn elf was his own grandfather had come as more than a shock to Erestor, who was admittedly of a calmer temperament. At that point, he had already come to know Glorfindel quite well, but as Elrond’s self-appointed (or Valar-appointed, Glorfindel wasn’t really clear on that point) bodyguard and friend. Glorfindel had baffled Erestor, still did at times, because he could go straight from jesting and being everyone’s best friend and drinking companion to being a deadly serious elder and war leader. Glorfindel had already been protective of Erestor, because Erestor was Elrond’s friend and because he liked Erestor, but he became even more so after learning that Erestor was his grandson. Protective, aye, and bossy, too.

It soon became clear that Arandil and Glorfindel were likely not returning that night. Erestor silently wished his father well, and his grandfather patience, and reassured Melpomaen that Glorfindel was unlikely to be too hard on Arandil. And, really, Erestor’s beloved Atar had been pushing his luck, anyway. The twins were admiring of that, but the more respectful Melpomaen seemed much more aware that Glorfindel had some cause for his irritation.

But Glorfindel did truly love his son. That was evident again the next morning. Erestor had to remind his son not to gape in surprise again, when Melpomaen realized that Glorfindel had left his lieutenants to conduct training all day long, so that he could go riding with Arandil. Glorfindel almost never did that, and not at all that Erestor could recall since Melpomaen had come to Imladris.

Both his grandfather and his father being gone for the day gave Erestor’s mother the chance to sit down alone with Erestor, and tell him that he should lift his restriction on Melpomaen’s travel outside the grounds of Imladris.

“It’s too long a punishment for an elfling, ion-nin.” Lady Elain explained earnestly, “Even for one who is nearly grown.”

“Thank you, Naneth.” Erestor had said with a sigh. He was not the kind of ellon who argued with his mother, and especially not when most of him agreed. Still, it was annoying to have everyone else tell him how to father his son, so he did what any sensible elf would do. He went and complained to his oldest and dearest friend. And her much younger adopted brothers, who happened to be present. 

“My mother has flat-out told me, and I can tell that my father agrees even if he has not said so, that I am being too hard on Melpomaen. Too HARD on Melpomaen, after the tremendously dangerous risks he took for no good reason traveling from Imladris to the Gray Havens, and nearly dying or being kidnapped several times!” Erestor complained as he paced back and forth in front of an interested audience of Celebrian, Haldir, and Rumil in Celebrian’s sun-drenched sewing room.

“Bri,” Erestor complained to his heart-sister, “If I had gone on a solo trip from Lindon to Eregion, I would never have sat again, and I would have been tied to my father or someone he trusted for ....for years! And that was if I had been an adult....as an UNDERAGED ELFLING, had I done something so recklessly foolish- I cannot even imagine!" 

Celebrian laughed. “That is grandparents for you, Erestor. Mine are very much the same with my twin sons. When I drilled small holes in the wine bottle corks to add ink, it was ‘Celebrian, how could you have done such a thing, you naughty elfling!’ When my SONS do it, it is ‘well, they shouldn’t have done that, but oh, aren't they creative!’"

Haldir nodded sagely, which made Erestor recall that he’d sometimes been in charge of Elladan and Elrohir’s military training during their extended stays in Lothlorien and Edhellond while Elrond had been serving as healer to young Prince Galador of Dol Amroth.

“Oh, the ink wasn’t so bad.” Remarked Rumil, “They were just bored, and it did lighten the mood.”

Celebrian and Haldir exchanged an incredulous look. It was quite evident to Erestor who had been the petted, indulged baby of Celeborn and Galadriel’s family.

“My darling brother,” Celebrian said, turning back to Erestor, “I would like to tell you that it gets better, but grandparents always think grandchildren are wonderful. If the twins are harmed in the course of their unauthorized adventures, then it is Elrond and I who should have supervised them more adequately. There is just no way to win.”

Erestor had that in mind, when next he spoke with his father. Arandil was concerned about how Melpomaen was handling the news that the patriarch of his family was, in truth, Glorfindel, who could be a lot to live up to.

“You know, Atto,” Said Erestor, slightly exasperated, “You are rather a lot to live up to yourself. In less than a week here, you have made Melpomaen feel more comfortable with our extended family than I have in two years! You did a fair job of raising me, and sometimes Celebrian, too – while being ambassador as well as scholar, administrator, and tutor. Meanwhile, I am finding it challenging to give even one nearly-grown elfling everything he needs!”

Arandil took that in calmly and with sympathy, before sitting down on a settee in Erestor’s rooms and inviting his son to do the same.

“Erestor, my owlet, I was ambassador in Eregion, yes, but I think you rather underestimate how smoothly Eregion ran under the hands of Galadriel, Celeborn and Celebrimbor. And I left the vast bulk of your tutelage Master Orlair, while you meet Elladan, Elrohir, and your own new son for lessons near every day.” 

“But that is for my joy, as well as theirs.” Erestor objected. 

“But it is still a great deal of responsibility upon your shoulders, my son. You are the second elf in Imladris more than I ever was in Eregion when you were young. You must give yourself some credit, and Melpomaen as well. He knows that you are busy; he dearly appreciates the time you make for him, in the mornings and the small breaks while he works with you, and the longer hours riding or playing chess in the evenings. You ARE giving him what he needs. Have patience with yourself, and with him.”

Erestor sighed with relief, feeling the truth of his father’s words, and the comfort that Arandil truly meant them. “At least,” said Erestor gratefully, “You have not complained to me that I am being too hard on Melpomaen, as Naneth has, or too soft on him, as Anatar so often does.”

Arandil laughed and made a face. “You and Melpomaen will figure things out between you. I have every faith in your judgment, and a few extra months ‘confined’ to what is in truth a large settlement has done him no harm. Besides, I think that he would like to have more time to spend, just with you. That is part of why Elain and I will be going camping with the twins and their company.”

Erestor scrutinized his father carefully, “Did you already know, that I was planning to lift that particular restriction?”

Arandil lifted a hand palm up, the more elegant elven equivalent of the human shrug. “Know? No. I thought it was possible, but I would not press. I trust you to deal with your own affairs, Erestor. But also to come to me, if you have need. I am always happy to lend you my own point of view and experience, but you generally only need your own.”

“Thank you, Atto.” Erestor relaxed, again, and thanked the Valar that his father was his father, and his grandfather, while wonderful, was not.

The day before the star shower dawned bright and clear. Melpomaen bid the twins and their companions farewell with only a trace of wistfulness, and did indeed seem quite content to study and play word games in Imladris’ sunny gardens with Erestor.

“Get your things together,” Erestor instructed Melpomaen as the sun began to set, “You and I are going out riding beyond the look-out point on the plain, to watch the star shower from there.” It would not be quite as fine a view as from the hot springs further up the Bruinen, but it would be a breath-taking sight, nonetheless.

“But…am I not grounded, Erestor?” Said Melpomaen, clearly excited, but unwilling to take advantage of Erestor’s good nature.

“It doesn't count if you're with me.” Erestor explained.

That night, as the stars fell in the sky above them, Erestor talked through with Melpomaen again why he had been grounded.

“For traveling to Lindon from here when Master Falathar bade me do so, when I knew that you would not approve.” Melpomaen repeated obediently.

“And why did you go, ion-nin? I confess that I am not entirely clear on that point, nor was your explanation particularly cogent at the time.” Erestor kept his tone calm, and was rewarded with a Melpomaen who was thoughtful rather than too nervous to speak reasonably.

“I…it was partly to prove to him that I was capable, I think.”

“No one would be expected to make that trip by himself, Melpomaen muin nin.” Erestor scolded.

“I know.” Melpomaen apologized, “And I know that I should have come to you. I think it was also in part that I just didn’t know what to do about him pushing me about and lying about my work. I should have gone to you, the twins told me to. If they had known it had gotten physical again, I think they would have told you.”

“They did tell me, when they realized that you were truly missing and not on an errand with the patrol to the nearby villages, as Falathar had reported. Melpomaen, if they had not…” Erestor had to take a deep breath to calm himself, to avoid thinking what might have happened to a lone adolescent elf on the long road between Mithlond and Imladris. Particularly when the jealous Falathar and Melpomaen’s spurned father Edrahil had plotted between them to have him elfnapped.

“I know.” Said Melpomaen, shame-faced but not as scared as Erestor. The young always thought that they were immortal. Erestor felt sudden sympathy for Glorfindel, on the rare occasions when he had aided and abetted Elrond in doing something that no sane elf ought to have done. 

Melpomaen spoke up, “Erestor, Ada, the grounding is also in part a punishment for my having lied about my age, is it not?”

Erestor shook his head fondly, “No, ion-nin. Why would you think that?”

Melpomaen blinked, clearly confused. “Because…I lied, to you, and Lord Elrond, and Lord Cirdan.”

“No, elfling mine, you merely did not contest your father Edrahil’s initial lie, the one he told so that he would not have to pay Lord Cirdan the fostering fees typical for an elfling who was not almost of age.” 

“But…Elrohir and Elladan are punished for letting one another’s lies stand.”

“Yes, ion-nin, but they have no power, the one over the other, save that of brotherly love. Nor do I punish my nephews for not reporting on one another, if no one is being put at risk of harm or trouble by the other twin’s activities.” Erestor wrapped his arm more tightly around Melpomaen’s shoulders, and continued, “ Your father had had authority over you for all your life - I'll not punish you for obeying the ellon who gave you birth. I am still disappointed that you did not trust me enough to tell me the truth, but I will not punish you for not trusting me enough. Not trusting me enough to tell me when someone was actively harming you – that is different. I will not have you hurt. And that is why you were punished. Do you understand now, ion-nin?”

“Yes, I….I think so.”

“Good. Then we can consider this punishment at an end.”

Melpomaen gasped in pleased surprise, and threw his arms around Erestor.

Erestor laughed fondly, and stroked his son’s hair.

“Ada?” Said Melpomaen, looking up, “Can we still say that I’m grounded from going with the twins to collect marsh weed at the end of next week? I’d really rather miss that trip.”

Taking a leaf out of Elrond’s book, Erestor permitted, “If you apply yourself diligently to all of your lessons, including your sword play and wrestling, and listen to me both when I tell you to apply better effort and when I tell you to relax and leave a task for later, then yes, I will tell the twins that I need you for some reason, and that you may not go on that particular excursion.”

Melpomaen was gratifyingly grateful, and Erestor made a mental note to thank Elrond, later. Elrond, who was also fairly good at not offering advice unasked for, something else that Erestor ought to thank him for. Celebrian, too. And maybe he should ask, more often, because that particular conversation with Melpomaen should better have occurred some six month earlier. But there was nothing wrong with repetition.

The rest of that night passed joyfully, the still and brilliant spectacle of the falling stars paling in the pleasure of his son’s company. Erestor and Melpomaen, neither of whom particularly enjoyed camping, rode home to Imladris under the full moon, to find a critical Glorfindel and a yawning Arandil waiting for them. 

As of the next evening, Melpomaen had evidently still not told anyone save perhaps the twins that Erestor had lifted his restriction to the grounds of Imlasdris. Or at the very least, no one had told Erestor’s mother.

“Perhaps, ion-nin, as a compromise on the issue, you would permit your Atar and I to take Melpomaen with us to Mithlond and Lindon this summer?” Elain asked hopefully.

“Melpomaen is once again free to go where he pleases, provided that he has obtained the requisite adult approval first.” Said Erestor, hiding his exasperation, and his disquiet. He didn’t really want Melpomaen so far away from him as that, and from the torn look on Melpomaen’s face, his son wasn’t sure that he wanted to go quite so far away, either. 

Erestor decided that it was up to him to be the parent, and say no. He could always change his mind, after he’d talk to Melpomaen, and maybe Elrond. “I do not think that I can spare Melpomaen’s company for that long. I would miss him too much.” 

“We were going to invite you, too, yonya.” Said Arandil dryly.

“Oh!” Said Erestor, startled, and feeling rather foolish, “Well, I am not sure that I can be spared….”

“Summer is generally slow enough, mellon-nin.” Offered Elrond generously, “You may go, if you wish. You and your family serve us so loyally, I would never say you nay in such a matter unless it were truly necessary.”

With Melpomaen’s face shining with excitement and his parents looking pleased, Erestor was running out of reasons to say no.

Arandil nodded slightly toward the twins, at the same time as Melpomaen asked, “Ada, Daerada, Lord Elrond, may Elrohir and Elladan come, too?” 

“I don’t see why not, provided that it is acceptable to Arandil and Elain, as well as Erestor.” Said Celebrian, cheerfully and knowingly throwing Erestor under the wagon of dealing with all three adolescents in two of Middle Earth’s largest and most bustling cities. Valar knew that Arandil would be no kind of strict guardian, and Elain had a fond spot for the twins and now Melpomaen that let them get away with practically anything so long as they were not actually bleeding.

But what else was there for Erestor to do, besides give his permission? He loved his nephews just as he loved his son, and it would be fun, if perhaps overly exciting, to take such a trip.

The twins and Melpomaen cheered as Erestor gave his leave, and then bent their dark heads in conversation with Elain, who, terrifyingly enough, already had an itinerary. Erestor turned to give Celebrian and Elrond a LOOK.

Neither of his best friends were paying the slightest attention to Erestor.

“It will NOT be the perfect opportunity to have another elfling!” Whispered Elrond fiercely to his determined, grinning wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear from you if you enjoyed this addition to this story! Either way, thanks for reading! 
> 
>  A semi-sequel about Arandil and Glorendil, going back and forth in time from Imladris to Gondolin, is now being posted at: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/214270/chapters/9909041
> 
> Additional End Notes: If you want to read more about Melpomaen in my AU at a slightly later age, a number of the other chapters of this story feature him, particularly Memory's Ghosts (which is about six or seven chapters long). 
> 
> Chapter 3 of “Tales of the Elves of Imladris,” entitled “I’m Not Getting Involved,” is in some ways a prequel to this story, as it features an earlier run-in between the twins and the Three Numbskulls.
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/227554/chapters/345093
> 
> If you would like to read more about Glorfindel and Arandil, who rather took over this story, they appear near the end of this chapter of Schadenfreude, which occurs about a century before Elrond's marriage to Celebrian: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/476361/chapters/841458
> 
> Arandil also appears in “Dragonfire” in Tales of the First Age, which also briefly mentions his reunion with his father:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/214270/chapters/2328584


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